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KATE FELTON; 


on, 


A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


BY AN AMERICAN LADY. 




“ As the rose breatheth sweetness from Its own nature, so the heart of a bonevolemt man prodHceth 

good works.” 



BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED BY EDWARD PAYSON WESTON, 

I?©, 16 Devonshire Street 

1850 . 





Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by 
Frank C. Moore, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



BOSTON : 

IV. 9. DAMRELL AND FRANK C. MOORE, PRINTER*, 
18 Devonshire Street. 


NOTE TO THE READER. 


With a feeling of good-will towards mankind generally, and 
especially towards the citizens of her endeared country, the writer 
of this work presents it to a generous public. She is encouraged 
to hope that it will be regarded as kindly by the reading commu- 
nity as have been her former productions, which, from time to 
time, have been laid before the book-loving multitude in our be- 
loved land. 

The Author. 


New England, July, 18-59. 














* 






- ; -- , - " $ ■ ' 7 '<y 




CONTENTS 


Pagb 

Chapter I. Starting on a Journey 1 

“ II. Journeyings. — Two opposites meet .... 8 

“ III. The Arrival. — Susan Wilkins 24 

“ IY. The Squatters 51 

“ Y. The Party 75 

“ VI. A Ludicrous Scene 84 

“ VII. The Walk. — The Offer 87 

“ VIII. The Expected come not. — Little Dora . . . 109 

“ IX. Pleasant Results of Kind Efforts . . . . . 124 

“ X. An Old Friend discovered 145 

“ XI. Aunt Pattie. — Emigration 162 

XII. Little Dora’s Father 173 

“ XIII. The Visit. — Cousin Joe 187 

“ XIV. Change of Fortune 201 

“ XV. Carrie meets an Old Friend 211 

“ XVI. A Pleasant Home 224 

“ XVII. A Laughable Adventure 235 

“ XVIII. Aunt Pattie’s Reception of the Bride ... 250 

“ XIX. The Thunder Storm 260 




M 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

Chapter XX. Those long separated meet again ... .274 

“ XXI. The Haughty Invalid 283 

“ XXII. A Friend worth having 297 

“ XXIII. Two Happy Hearts. — Susan’s Perplexity . . 313 

* “ XXIY. Smiles take the place of Sadness. — Mrs. Upton 326 

“ XXY. The Cottage Home 343 

“ XXYI. Disappointment of the Bridal Parties .... 355 

“ XXYII. Shadows. — A Touching Scene 379 

“ XXYIII. Brother John’s Yisit. — Susan’s Offering . . 398 

“ XXIX. One more Yisit to Virginia 413 

“ XXX. Carrie realizes a long-anticipated pleasure . . 423 

“ XXXI. Kate in her New Home. — Conclusion . . . 435 


KATE FELTON; 


OR, 


A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


CHAPTER I. 

READY FOR AND STARTING UPON A JOURNEY. 

“ Mother, I love you so well that I wish to be rid of 
your society during the remainder of this evening. You 
look very weary indeed ; and, unless you retire now and 
rest during the night, you will be unfit to encounter the 
fatigue of to-morrow.” 

This was said pleasantly and affectionately by a young 
lady to her mother, whose health was extremely delicate. 
As she said this, she approached her, and, tenderly kissing 
her, offered her arm for a support, saying, — 

“ Come, my dear mamma, you know I am very decided ; 
so it will be useless for you to oppose my plans.” 

Her mother smiled, and, rising from her chair, remarked 
in a gentle tone, — 

“ You shall have your own way about me, Kate : I 
think it best for me to retire early to-night ; and I hope 
you will soon follow me, for you are very much worn, and 
need rest as much as 1 do.” 


2 


KATE FELTON ; 


Mrs. Felton then retired to her sleeping apartment, 
leaving the care of little matters yet to be attended to, to 
her daughter. Every thing was soon arranged to Kate’s 
satisfaction. She then seated herself in the room where 
her mother generally sat. She wished to take breath, and 
a bird’s-eye view of things as they are. It was a neat, 
cosy little room where Kate sat ; dear, very dear to her 
by association. There she had played in her infancy, 
there she had been dandled upon her father’s knee. That 
parent was now sleeping in the dust ; she felt the need 
of his strong arm to lean upon never more than now. 
Memory was very busy. In fancy she beheld his loved 
form, and she sighed as she thought how lonely her 
mother and herself had felt since he had gone. Her 
tears were starting unbidden ; but she wiped them hastily 
away, for she heard a gentle rap at the door. She arose 
and opened the door to admit her dearest friend, Mary 
Winthrop. They met as only friends can meet, — ever 
pleased and satisfied with each other’s society. They met 
and sat down together on this last evening of Kate’s pre- 
sent stay in her native town, to enjoy the present, not to 
borrow trouble for future hours. 

“ You are alone, Kate,” said Mary ; “ I am glad, — sel- 
fish enough, too, to hope you will not receive another call 
during this evening. I want you all to myself, Kate.” 

“I expect you will have it so,” replied her friend. 
“ Mother has gone to her chamber for the night ; most of 
our friends have tak^n their leave of us ; your friend 
Kate was sitting down just now to take counsel of her 
own wayward heart, which would have led her wrong, 
had you not come to rescue her. Don’t show your love 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


3 


for me, Mary, by making our parting painful. It is un- 
kind to do so. We must part: but hope for me points 
her fairy finger to a period, a pleasant period, not very 
far distant, when we shall be reunited on earth ; if not 
(and there is nothing certain here), we can, and I trust 
we shall, meet in a happier land.” 

“ You are ever hopeful, Kate,” said her friend ; “I 
will not make it hard for you to do your duty. I know 
you would choose to remain here, but our parting shall 
not be a sad one if I can help it. The only thing I dis- 
like about your plan is the situation of the home to which 
you are going.” 

“ Where would you have it be, Mary ? It is just where 
mother may enjoy firmer health ; and, even if it were 
farther than it is from our loved New England, I would 
not shrink from travelling the distance for her sake.” 

“It is not the distance I complain of, Kate. If you 
were going to Italy’s sunny shores, I would be satisfied ; 
I should not feel it so great a drawback upon my comfort, 
as toJ;hink you are in the land where slavery is nurtured.” 

“ Don’t lay this to heart ; I shall not let you. You 
will not love me less because my home for a time is to be at 
the South, will you, Mary ? I shall be your friend still.” 

“But you will change, Kate; I am afraid of this* 
You may marry tnere too, and then we should be indeed 
separated.” 

“Not a bit of that, Mary,” replied Kate. “You be- 
lieve I love you now ; be content with that for the pre- 
sent. Time will show what the future has in store for us, 
full fast enough too. If I turn slave-driver, as your fears 
seem to. imply you think I shall, it will do to grieve when 
the fact is proved.” 


4 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ I don’t think you will become a slave-driver, Kate ; 
but I do fear that you will learn to regard slavery as a 
trifling evil.” 

“ W e know not, Mary, what we shall do until we are 
tried.” 

“ I hate to have you tried, Kate ; to have your tongue 
silenced, by conventional rules, upon a subject that you 
have always freely discussed.” 

“ I don’t expect nor intend to be trammelled in any 
way,” replied the lovely girl, looking at her friend with a 
countenance full of good humor. “ I shall express my 
sentiments freely, as I have ever done. I expect others to 
do the same by me, and I shall ask them to be frank with 
me. I love my whole country ; the North, South, East, 
and the mighty West. I mean, too, that the people inha- 
biting each of these regions shall love me as far as they 
know me.” 

“ I don’t believe the people of the South will love you 
very much, Kate, unless you change your sentiments,” 
said Mary, roguishly. 

“ I do,” responded the other quickly ; “ I shall make 
them in spite of themselves.” 

“ You are a strange girl ; what does you brother think 
of your independent manner ? ” 

“ Oh ! he gets along with it, he says, because it is I ; 
you know that some people must be tolerated. I expect 
he thinks I am of that class. You remember brother 
John, don’t you, Mary ? ” 

* e Yes, I remember him. I have seen him several 
times, yet only once since his marriage. Don’t you wish, 
Kate, he had taken a northern lady for a wife, and lived 
here near you ? ” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


5 


“ No ,” answered the other ; “ it is best as it is.” 

“ It is pleasanter for your mother just now, that he 
lives in a warm climate,” said Mary abstractedly. 

“ It is best on other accounts,” said Kate. 

“ Why, do explain yourself ; I can’t see any advantage 
arising from such a connection.” 

“ Then you don’t put on the right spectacles to look 
through.” 

“ Then I need specs, do I, to see them ? ” 

“ Certainly,” said Kate, playfully. “ Your eyes are all 
blurred over with prejudice ; you can’t see at all clearly 
without the help afforded the moral vision through the 
gospel.” 

“ I understand you in part, but not wholly,” replied 
M ary. 

“ Why,” said Kate, “ if all obeyed the precepts of the 
gospel of our Saviour, should we not feel that we be- 
longed to one great family ; should we not love our 
brother as ourselves ? ” 

“ What a benevolent heart you possess, my dear friend ! 
I wish I felt as you do.” 

“ That is a very poor wish, Mary ; I wish that you and 
I both had much more benevolence than either ever exer- 
cised or cherished. We must press onward, Mary, and 
never feel satisfied with any attainment yet made.” 

“ Kate, I almost wish I was going to the South with 
you.” 

“ If I remain there you must come,” said Kate ; 
“ though I don’t know exactly what might be the effect 
of conventional rules,” she added somewhat mischiev- 


6 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ Oh, don't ! ” said Mary ; “ I was thinking I should like 
to try and see if I could be an independent Christian.” 

“ Why not try now, and always, wherever you are ? 
there is no time like the present. We don’t labor to im- 
prove it half enough, at least I don’t.” 

“ Your gifts are different from mine, Kate ,* you can 
speak when I should not know what to say. Besides, I 
am unfortunate in giving offence. I do not make myself 
clearly understood.” 

“ I understand you, Mary. You must not excuse 
yourself from duty that is not pleasant, but make your 
influence for good felt as far as you may. We cannot be 
neutral ; we cannot stand still. We are retrograding or 
advancing always.” 

Mary sighed. 

“ I shall lose a counsellor when you go.” 

“ You will have a better Friend left near you.” 

“ That is true : still you are my best earthly friend, 
Kate. I have been an orphan ever since my remembrance ; 
and your love, as it has ever been manifested towards me, 
is among the earliest and sweetest recollections of my 
childhood.” 

“ I love to think you have reciprocated the affection I 
have cherished towards you ; it will be a darling thought 
to carry to my southern home.” 

(i I don’t love to think of your having a home so far 
from me.” 

“ Don’t think of it ; we shall be together in spirit every 
day.” 

It was late ere these friends retired to rest. They 
chatted long. Mary spent the night with Kate, that she 


OR, A PEEP AT REATITIES. 


7 


might see her friends start upon their journey early in the 
morning. Mrs. Felton arose very early, feeling greatly 
refreshed by the quiet rest she had enjoyed. Kate had 
rested somewhat more than Mary ; but, though sad at heart, 
Mary had a pleasant smile upon her face. For her 
friend’s sake, she would be cheerful. She accompanied 
them to the depot, and remained until the cars were ready 
to start. Tears filled the eyes of the trio, but they were 
not allowed to flow. Other friends came to take a part- 
ing look, and give a parting hand to both mother and 
daughter. 

When the moment arrived for parting, an affectionate 
pressure of the hand, and a hurried injunction to write 
soon, were all that passed between Kate and her friend 
Mary. 


KATE FELTON ; 


CHAPTER II. 

JOTJRNEYINGS. TWO OPPOSITES MEET. 

The iron horse that was to convey our friends a portion 
of their way sped rapidly over the track. It was not 
pleasant for Mrs. Eelton to sit in a car crowded with per- 
sons of every character and description. Kate felt this, 
and strove to interest her, and divert her mind from dis- 
agreeables by placing something pleasant before her. Pos- 
sessing a keen sense of the ludicrous herself, she found 
quite enough to beguile the tediousness of the way in her 
fellow-travellers. It seemed to her that circumstances 
had contrived to throw more in her way that was laugh- 
able on that morning than ever before. Some, however, 
would have fretted and frowned and fidgetted, or done 
any thing but smile and feel amused at what pleased Kate. 
After sitting for a time silently observing what was pass- 
ing around her, she asked her mother in a low tone if she 
did not like to take such a peep at the world once in a 
while, so as to see things a little as they are. 

" I like to see the brightest part of it, Kate,” replied 
Mrs. Eelton ; “not those portions that are darkened by 
arrogance and pride, — I don’t even like to think of 
those.” 

“Well,” said Kate, “ we’ve a specimen of what you 
would avoid in close proximity to us, you see.” 

U I am but too well aware of that,” responded her 
mother. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


9 


“ Mother, do you suppose that haughty lady who ap- 
pears to be the mother of that little girl is really afraid 
that the child who sits near her will contaminate her 
darling if their clothes happened to touch ? ” 

“ She acts as if she thought so, certainly,” said Mrs. 
Felton ; “ just study her countenance.” 

“ I have for some time,” said Kate ; “ but I can see but 
little expression, none in fact but hauteur admirably set 
off with self-complacency. The little girl she is so afraid 
of does not appear to understand her at all; see how 
wonderingly the child regards her ladyship, — or being-ship 
I ought to say, for such an one as she should not be called 
a lady. I am going to speak to this plainly dressed child 
now ; she looks sad, and I should like to know something 
about her.” 

One of the passengers had just moved, so Kate could 
sit down beside the little girl ; she did so, and with a 
smile of sympathy and kindness said to her, — 

“ My dear, I have not seen you speak to any one since 
you came into the car ; haven’t you any friends with 
you ? ” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“ Then you must feel lonesome,” said Kate, “ don’t 
you ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am, I have been thinking that it was very 
lonesome here among all these people, and I wished that 
little girl would only just speak tome,” — glancing at the 
said child at the moment. 

On hearing this, the little girl’s mother looked unuttera- 
ble things, but did not speak. The child went on, — 

“ I am going to see my father at the next stopping 
l* 


10 


KATE FELTON ; 


place, and he is going to Albany with me. I hope you 
will stay in the car till father gets in,” she added with 
rather a quizzical expression of countenance. 

“ I expect I shall, and much longer than that,” an- 
swered Kate ; “ but why do you wish it ? ” 

“ Oh ! because,” — and the child hesitated and looked 
confused. 

“ Don’t be afraid to speak, dear; say just what you 
wish to.” 

The little girl looked up, smiled, and said in a low tone 
of voice, — 

“ I feel as if you cared for me, although you do not 
know me.” 

“ I do care for you, my child ; and I should have spo- 
ken to you before, only I could not then get near enough.” 

“ You are very good to me,” she answered; “and you 
are a lady, too. Aunt Abby told me to be very quiet, for 
I was not dressed well enough to be noticed by any but 
good people.” 

i( What is the matter with your dress, dear ? Iam sure 
it is neat and becoming.” 

“ But auntie said it wasn’t rich, — it would show peo- 
ple that my father was poor.” 

“ What if he is ? He is a good father, isn’t he ? ” 

“ O yes, ma’am, a dear good father ; I love him dearly. 
I did my mamma, too, when she was here ; but she is 
dead now.” 

The child’s lip quivered. She could hardly articulate 
the last words ere the tears streamed down her cheeks. 
Kate was moved almost to tears herself. She put her arm 
affectionately around her little friend, and with her other 


OF, A PEEr AT REALITIES. 


11 


hand took from her travelling basket some confectionery 
and gave her. She then offered some to the daughter of 
the haughty lady who sat next to her 'protege. The little 
girl looked at her mother for leave to take it, and then 
accepted it. Kate had been much amused by observing 
that lady’s scrutinizing glances at herself, after she sat 
down near her. It was plain she was satisfied that Kate 
was a lady : but it was not as plain that she felt rebuked 
for the proud, unchristian airs she had assumed towards 
that unprotected child ; for she had neither head nor heart 
enough to feel this. She satisfied herself, however, that 
Kate’s dress and manners gave her a passport to class 
number one. “ She belongs to my set,” thought she ; u I 
will take some notice of that child, since she is so free 
with her.” And the proud one vouchsafed to ask the 
little one if she was tired. 

“No, ma’am, not now,” replied the little girl, modestly, 
and then turned her head in another direction, as if fear- 
ful she might speak to her again. Like all children, she 
was a shrewd observer of character ; and she had felt, as 
well as seen, the difference between Kate and the woman 
of fashion. This was felt, too, by the person herself. 
Though Kate Felton was little more than twenty years of 
age, she was very dignified ; and to dignity was added a 
modest independence, a straightforwardness of purpose 
and action, that seldom failed to insure her the respect of 
those she met, even upon a very short acquaintance. On 
this occasion, her fellow-traveller, who has more than once 
been alluded to, regarded her as a person worthy of notice, 
and began a conversation with her. At first, it was com- 
monplace, but very soon became interesting to both 


12 


KATE FELTON ; 


parties. Kate was a person calculated to draw out the 
character of even the most reserved. In one sense of 
the word she was non-committal ; still she was frank- 
hearted and ingenuous, never allowing herself to cherish 
sentiments she might not on some occasion express with 
propriety. 

Her new acquaintance felt no little curiosity to learn 
something of her history. Thus far she had seemed a 
puzzle to her. Was she rich ? married or single ? 
where was she going ? — were questions that arose in the 
lady’s mind. That she was handsome was a self-evident 
fact. That she was richly dressed, and accustomed to 
such dress, was also evident. Why Kate seemed so inte- 
rested in a plainly dressed, lonely child, she could not 
discover. ~No wonder ! She had not the key to this : she 
needed a heart. On learning that Kate and her mother 
were on their way to Virginia, where they were to spend 
the remainder of autumn and the approaching winter, she 
told Kate she envied her. 

“ Why,” asked Kate, “ don’t you like the North as 
well?” 

“ On some accounts I do ; yet one has the privilege of 
so many servants at the South, that it makes a residence 
there delightful.” 

“ I cannot agree with you in that,” Kate answered, 
hardly able to restrain her risibility. “ I think we can 
have servants enough in dear New England to make life 
pleasant to any rational being. I don’t admire a great 
retinue of servants.” 

“ You are not in the habit of waiting upon yourself, I 
conclude ? ” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


13 


“ Yes, I am ; I often wait upon myself from choice, — 
not always. I have ever had it in my power to do as I 
chose.” 

“ I never wish to do that for myself that I can have 
a servant do for me,” was the reply. 

“ Then,” observed Kate, rather dryly, “it is a mercy 
to yourself that your home is at the North.” 

Here the conversation was interrupted by the stopping 
of the cars, and the consequent egress and ingress of pas- 
sengers. The little girl’s father entered, much to the 
child’s gratification. Kate thought he did indeed appear 
like a dear good father, as the child had said. The father 
and daughter had not met for a long time, and both found 
it difficult to control their feelings at seeing each other. 
The gentleman was the most successful of thS two. It 
was sometime before the little girl could say much. She 
sat still, holding her father’s hand ; weeping very silently, 
though not sadly. 

Kate had heard an individual say to him, just as he 
entered the cars, “ Good bye, doctor ! ” so she concluded 
he was a physician ; but a moment’s study of his fine open 
face assured her that he did not belong to the class called 
quacks. His appearance showed him to be a person in 
straightened circumstances. His dress was scrupulously 
neat ; but his coat was well-nigh threadbare, although made 
of fine cloth. He had the air and manners of a person 
used to good society, with which was mingled a shade of 
diffidence. Kate’s thoughts were busy. She loved to 
study human nature. A different arrangement had been 
made, by the moving of several passengers, which brought 
Mrs. Felton, Kate, her little friend, the gentleman re- 


14 


KATE FELTON ; 


ferred to, the fashionable lady and her daughter, into one 
neighborhood. The last-mentioned lady seemed annoyed 
at this state of things, nevertheless it must be endured. 
She regarded the threadbare gentleman with an expres- 
sion of contempt. 

“ Now,” thought she, “ this pitiful-looking child will 
not receive any more of this lady’s attention.” 

She was mistaken, however ; for no sooner had the cars 
become quiet, than Kate congratulated the child upon 
meeting her father. Then, in a low whisper, she 
asked, — 

“ Whom should you thank, dear, for bringing your 
father and yourself together again ? ” 

The little girl smiled, and, looking thoughtfully into the 
face of her friend, replied, — 

“ My mamma would say, God.” 

“ I am glad, dear, that you remember so well what she 
used to say. Be sure and remember it always.” 

“ I hope I shall,” said the child, her eyes swimming in 
tears. 

The father looked at his little girl as if he would know 
the cause of her emotion. 

“ Father,” said she, “ I was not lonely mueh of the 
way before you came in here ; for this lady was very good 
to me.” 

At this Kate smiled ; and the gentleman, bowing po- 
litely, expressed his gratitude for her kindness. 

“ I have done nothing to merit such an acknowledg- 
ment on your part,” said Kate. “ It was a pleasure to chat 
with your little daughter. I only regret, that, during the 
first part of our journey, we were separated by too great a 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


15 


distance to admit of my speaking to her. I wished to, for 
I felt she was lonely. ” 

“ Some persons do not think as much of the feelings of 
others,” replied the gentleman, with an expression of ad- 
miration in his countenance, as he looked at the interest- 
ing individual who had addressed him. 

“ I don’t envy such their feelings,” said Kate. “ I 
think by far the greatest part of one’s own happiness is 
derived from the thought that they are making others 
happy.” 

“ Your own happiness, I should judge, was enhanced 
by doing good,” responded the other. “ Yet such cases 
are not common in the world ; at least, I have found that 
selfishness has a wider sway than disinterested benevo- 
lence.” 

“ The world has not yet learned to love its neighbor 
as itself,” said Mrs. Felton, who had been wishing for a 
favorable opportunity to address the stranger. 

His manly bearing, his broad, intellectual forehead, and 
high-toned moral expression, delighted her. A shade of 
sadness was blended with all this, that gave an additional 
interest to his appearance. 

The gay woman of fashion did not see aught in this 
plainly dressed child of misfortune and genius to admire. 
She wondered at her fellow-travellers for compromising 
their dignity in such a manner. For aught they knew, 
she thought, there might be within hearing those whom 
they should hereafter meet in their own circle ; and to 
think of having first been seen talking on familiar terms 
wfith such shabbiness, — she was not going to run any such 
risk, no, not she. So, if at any time while conversing he 


16 


KATE FELTON; 


had looked at her, as if expecting she might make some 
remark, she scornfully repulsed such rudeness. Why 
shouldn’t she ? — she belonged to the society of exclusives. 
It never for a moment occurred to her, that the good and 
great might wish to exclude her from their society, were 
it not for the apostolic injunction, “Be courteous.” Dur- 
ing a short pause which followed the remark of Mrs. Fel- 
ton, our gay friend said to Kate, — 

“ I wonder why you think it a mercy that my home is 
not at the South.” 

Kate smiled, and answered, “ Because I think you 
might expect too much of your servants.” 

The lady was evidently chagrined at this reply. 

“ Why do you think so ? ” asked she. 

“ Because you told me just now that you did not like 
to wait upon yourself; and, knowing that it is not good 
for any one in health to have all their wants attended to 
by others, I felt it would be a misfortune to you to be 
situated as you might be at the South.” 

“ Would you have everyone become a drudge ?” in- 
quired the lady, rather indignantly. 

“Not by any means,” replied Kate. “I don’t love to 
see any one working over hard ; and I don’t love to know 
that any one is very tired.” 

“ Either in spirit or body,” said the gentleman, “ I sup- 
pose.” 

“Neither,” said Kate. “ Spirit weariness has almost 
always my sympathy ; — always, if produced in a laudable 
way.” 

“ By exertion, I conclude you mean,” said the other, 
with a meaning look.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


IT 


“ I do.” 

“ Are you always busy yourself ? ” asked the lady tra- 
veller, turning to Kate. 

“ I generally try to be,” replied she. “ I don’t feel 
satisfied with myself unless I am doing something.” 

“ You rest sometimes, don’t you ? ” asked the other. 

“ Certainly : that is doing something right. When one 
is weary, duty bids us pause then. But, to speak plainly, 
I do not like inertness and sloth. I love to have people 
employed, — it keeps them out of mischief.” 

“ Yet,” said the lady, “ it is not necessary for all to 
labor. Some are born rich ; of course, their circum- 
stances preclude the necessity of doing any thing.” 

<c 1 think differently. There is, there can be, no con- 
dition that precludes the necessity of labor. If a man has 
had a silver spoon put into his hand by his father, he can 
have no right to be content with just feeding himself 
with it. A person who does this, in my opinion, however 
full his coffers may be, is not entitled to one-half the re- 
spect that the industrious man may claim, however poor. 
I respect effort : it makes character.” 

“ Do you respect a man more that is rich for having ac- 
quired his riches ? ” 

“ 1 do, — more than the indolent man, be he ever so 
rich.” 

“ I presume,” said the gentleman, addressing Kate, 
with an unassuming manner, “ that you are far from de- 
spising that class who are striving to acquire wealth and 
distinction from a sense of duty.” 

“ Indeed I am ; even when such persons have only 


18 


KATE FELTON ; 


planted their feet on the first round of the ladder that leads 
to influence and honor.” 

“ The aspirant for goodness and greatness will not have 
obstacles thrown in his way by my daughter/’ said Mrs. 
Felton. “ I trust she will ever fulfil her mission as a 
woman, to encourage and cheer onward all who have 
taken the first step in the glorious pathway to future use- 
fulness. That path is a thorny one, sometimes ; and its 
travellers often need the smiles of the virtuous, to keep 
them from despondency.” 

Our proud ]ady looked as if she had no sympathy with 
this subject, and with manifest pleasure hailed the sight 
of the city, to which the company were rapidly advancing. 
Here they were to separate. 

“ I shall be sorry when you leave us,” said Kate’s little 
pet to her, as they were nearing the depot at Greenbush ; 
“ for I feel as if I knew you.” 

“ I thank you, my dear,” replied Kate, with feeling. 
“ Though we separate now, we may some time meet again.’ 

“ I hope we shall,” responded the child. 

On leaving the cars, the haughty lady bowed stiffly to 
Mrs. Felton and Kate, without even deigning to glance at 
the wearer of the threadbare coat. Did these two oppo- 
sites ever meet each other again ? Perhaps they did. 
We shall know. Mrs. Felton and Kate parted with the 
stranger with feelings of great interest. The careworn, 
intelligent face of the gentleman could not be easily for- 
gotten by either mother or daughter. Kate was fortunate 
enough to secure a small stateroom, for the accommoda- 
tion of her mother and herself, on board the steamer that 
was to convey them to New York on the following day 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


19 


The intervening time was pleasantly spent with some 
friends who resided in Albany. The following morning 
was gladdened by as bright a sunshine as ever gilded an 
October day. The air was somewhat cool, but not frosty ; 
and our travellers took passage in the “ Speedwell,” amid 
the kind wishes and congratulations of friends ; for many 
such they had. After the boat was well under way, they felt 
that to strangers they must now be indebted for all further 
attentions ; as they had parted with all the friends they 
could expect to meet on their way. Mrs. Felton remarked 
to her daughter that she felt awkward and alone, having 
never travelled before without the escort of a gentleman. 

“ My dear mother,” said Kate, “ I do not feel in th* 
least annoyed at the idea of being destitute of male attend- 
ance. Why, we are far from alone. I would not mind 
going to Europe in the same way. You will see that we 
shall get along extremely well. Do, mother, just come 
upon the deck a few moments, and enjoy the fine breeze 
and prospect. It will make you forget all the disagree- 
ables of the way.” 

Taking her daughter’s arm, Mrs. Felton left the saloon, 
and had hardly reached a seat upon the deck ere a gentle- 
man approached her and proffered his hand. It was a 
former friend of Mr. Felton’s. Mrs. Felton cordially re- 
sponded to his friendly greeting ; and, learning that his 
way lay in the same direction as her own, experienced a 
grateful sense of relief at the thought that herself and 
daughter would have a protector. 

“ Now, mother,” said Kate, <f you see how useless it 
was to waste your energies in anxiety about our situation. 
Here we are cared for providentially.” 


20 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ I know it was needless ; but somehow I could not but 
regret our loneliness.” 

“ No great wonder, either,” said Mr. Ryan, the friend 
they had just met. “Your health is poor, and your 
daughter young. It appears,” continued he, turning 
to Kate, “ that you were superior to any feeling of anxiety 
in the case.” 

“ I am not timid,” said Kate. “ I can travel all alone 
if necessary. Still, I greatly prefer company, and sympa- 
thize with mother in the feelings of pleasure she mani- 
fests at finding a friend to whom she can speak. I am 
independent when independence is necessary, — not always 
from choice.” 

“ I understand you,” returned Mr. Ryan, with an ap- 
preciating smile. 

The trip to New York was rather a pleasant one, though 
Kate confined herself to her mother’s little .room most of 
the time. Invalid as she was, she was good society ; and 
her daughter’s enjoyment of any thing was always doubled 
if shared with her. They gazed together out of the state- 
room window at the scenery on the banks of the river, as 
they glided along, until Mrs. Felton was weary. Kate 
sat by her couch, and conversed cheerfully for a while, — 
afterwards read aloud ; and succeeded so well in interesting 
her mother that the lady could scarcely believe it past 
noon when the bell rang for dinner. In like manner the 
time sped on until they reached New York. As soon as 
they went upon deck, after the boat came to her moorings, 
Mr. Ryan appeared, and politely offered his services to re- 
lieve them of care ; which offer was gladly accepted by 
Mrs. Felton and Kate. In a short time they were carried 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


21 


to the Philadelphia depot, where they again took the cars 
to convey them to the place from whence they were to 
proceed onward, in a southerly direction, by land ; as Mrs. 
Felton did not like to run the risk of sea-sickness, in going 
all the way by water. They found Mr. Ryan in their im- 
mediate neighborhood, when the c.ars started. He had 
attended to the purchase of tickets, checking the baggage, 
and all the little matters necessary in travelling. The cars 
were crowded ; and their ride was endured, rather than 
enjoyed. This was the case during most of their journey. 
At length they exchanged the overloaded car and the 
steamer for a lumbering stage-coach. 

Here Kate felt herself called upon to exert her powers of 
pleasing in her mother’s behalf, who did not admire the jost- 
ling, sluggish movements of the old vehicle. It was other- 
wise with Kate. She loved that mode of travelling, in some 
respects, better than any other. It gave her an opportu- 
nity of seeing the country ; and it was the first time she 
had had a glimpse of southern scenery in autumn, so she 
enjoyed it greatly. They had parted with Mr. Ryan when 
they started in the stage ; but Mrs. Felton felt as if the 
greatest of their wayside trials were over, and Kate was 
as lively as a bird. Gaily she pointed out every thing of 
interest to her mother ; for her vision took in every thing 
at a glance, and for a length of time she saw only the 
beautiful. Nature w'as wearing her most splendid robe. 
Some of its hues were perhaps too gorgeous ; still, as a 
whole, it was beautiful. “ This,” thought Kate, “ is the 
land of flowers;” but, just as she was indulging the 
thought, a contrast presented itself in long stretches of 
half barren, overworked land, that lay in their way. 


22 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ They need some of the nerve and muscle of New 
England in this region,” said Kate to her mother. “ There 
is want of energy, as well as skill, apparent here.” 

“ It is plain to see a want of something here. The 
flowers are lovely, but grow with little help. It is not so 
with the products of the field. Man’s brow must sweat if 
he would live on good bread.” 

“ That is true,” said a gentleman who occupied a seat 
in front of them. “ He cannot throw his- responsibilities 
upon others without loss. Here, where slave-labor sup- 
ports all, we must put up with what we can have, which I 
really believe is more than we deserve.” 

“ From God, or from the slaves, do you mean ? ” asked 
Kate, modestly. 

“ From both,” replied he. “ We are in a bad fix here, 
you may depend ; for we feel our trouble, and yet cannot 
find a remedy.” 

“ I believe there is ,a remedy near you, if you would 
but apply it.” 

“Do you mean that we ought to turn abolitionists?” 
interrogated the gentleman. 

“ I do not,” said Kate. “ I mean that you ought to 
turn Gospelists. A strict regard to the Golden Rule 
would free our country of much perplexity.” 

“ Is the observance of this rule more desirable at the 
South than elsewhere, think you ? ” 

“ No, not a bit more. The North is in some respects 
more neglectful of it than this part of our land.” 

Finding that the ladies expected to spend the winter at 
Groveton, . a place then only a few miles distant, and 
having learned the fact that they were near relatives of 


OR, A TEEP AT REALITIES. 


23 


the Hon. John Felton, a friend of his, the gentleman in- 
troduced himself to them as Mr. Easyside, a clerical per- 
sonage, whom they would probably often meet at Mr. Fel- 
ton’s. Kate was not sorry to hear this ; for she felt, when 
he left them, — as he did a mile or more north of Grove- 
ton — that she had not heard him say half enough upon 
the subject he had himself introduced. However, for her 
mother’s sake, she was thankful when the stage stopped at 
a public house, a quarter of a mile distant from her bro- 
ther’s. A private carriage soon transported them the re- 
mainder of the way. 


24 


KATE FELTON ; 


CHAPTER III. 

THE ARRIVAL. MORE CHARACTERS THAN ONE. 

As they drew near the dwelling of Mr. Felton, they 
were observed by a slave, who communicated the fact to 
her master that strangers were approaching. 

“ Indeed ! ” said he, rising and going out upon the 
verandah. In another instant, he returned to the room he 
had left, where his wife was sitting, and said, in hurried 
accents, to her, “ My mother and sister have arrived.” His 
wife hastened with her husband to welcome these friends. 
They were expected near that time, though not confi- 
dently ; and Mr. John Felton declared his faith could not 
take so long a stretch as to believe they would come at all. 

“ You have given us an agreeable surprise,” said he. 
“ If I had really thought you would come, I should have 
gone for you.” 

“ Now,” said Kate, “ you must allow us the credit of 
having made a slight effort to see you in your own domi- 
cil. But we are forgetting that mother is feeble, and in 
need of rest.” 

u Oh ! I must ask the pardon of both, this minute. 
I am so delighted at seeing you, that I had quite forgotten 
every thing else for the time.” 

His wife had not, however, as he now found by hear- 
ing himself addressed by a servant, who had been sent with 
a request that Mrs. Felton might be assisted up stairs to 
the chamber that had been made ready for her. 


OK, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


25 


“ I’ll go up with you, mother,” said her son, “ and 
Kate may follow if she likes ; but you must lean upon 
me,” at the same time placing her arm upon his. 

When they reached the chamber, which was a well 
aired, prettily furnished, pleasant room on the second floor, 
Mrs. Felton thanked him for his kindness, but confessed 
that for the present she was too weary to enjoy even the 
society of this darling son. 

“ I shall be a good boy, then, and go right down again, 
and keep quiet, until you have refreshed yourself with 
sleep ; but stop ! you must have some other refreshment 
first.” 

“ I have seen to that,” said his wife ; and thereupon a 
slave entered, bearing a waiter upon which was a cup of 
tea, and something more substantial ; of which Mrs. Felton, 
senior, partook with relish, and then, being left alone, soon 
fell asleep, and did not awake until evening. In the 
meantime, Kate, having fortified her stomach with a late 
dinner, was introduced to all the members of her brother’s 
family. He was almost fifteen years her senior. Death 
had made sad ravages in the family of her parents during 
the years that had elapsed after his birth ere she was born. 
These two, the first and last born of her children, were 
all that were spared to cheer the widowhood of Mrs. 
Felton. John had three children : the two eldest were 
daughters, — one, Emma, who was fourteen ; the other, 
Bose, eleven years of age ; the youngest, a promising boy 
of nine years. The children welcomed their grandmother 
and aunt as heartily as did their parents. Little Frank said 
he knew he should love his aunt ; and he was desirous of 
presenting all the house servants to her as soon as possible. 


26 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ I want you to see our Ruthy, auntie,” the little fellow 
said, as soon as an opportunity offered for him to say as 
much, amid the constant chatter of glad voices that had 
taken themselves as far from the chamber of the invalid 
as they well could. 

C( And why do you wish me to see her, dear ? ” 

“ Oh ! because I love her ; and I think you can’t help 
loving her too.” 

“ I shall not try to help loving her or any one else, 
Frank, because it is a part of my mission to love people ; 
but I want to see Ruthy, — may I go with you to find 
her ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” said the child delightedly ; “ she won’t 
be hard to find ; she is out in the kitchen.” 

(i Well,” said Kate, “ we’ll seek her there now.” 

Frank took hold of his aunt’s hand, and led her across 
the yard into the first southern kitchen she had ever seen. 
Ruthy stood at the table ironing. 

“ This is my nurse,” said Frank ; " she has always taken 
care of me.” 

And he is my good baby, missus,” said the woman 
with a smile ; “ ’t’aint ’tall hard for to do for him.” 

“ I am very glad to hear you speak in such terms of 
my little nephew,” said Kate ; “ it promises well for the 
children when they are kind to those who have the care 
of them.” 

“ So it does for growd folks too, I’se thinking ; you can 
see jist what sort of man or woman they is, if you only 
observes how they treats their people.” 

“ That is one pretty fair test of character, I allow, 
uthv,” said Kate ; but do tell me how it is you manage 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


27 


to get along with so few of the articles in your kitchen 
that we use at the North ? ” 

“ La’s me, missus ! no kind ob use to have so much 
trumpery round ; niggers don’t want it. They does jist 
as well without.” * 

“ You seem happy here, E-utliy,” said Kate, as she stood 
regarding her in something of a musing mood. 

“ Happy ! ” repeated the woman. “ Yes, missus, I 
has a good deal to make me happy. I should allers be 
happy if my chillen was only with me, but they’s a good 
ways off.” 

“ How came that ? ” 

“ Oh ! my ole massa died, and the people was all scat- 
tered about ; cause there was debts to be paid, and ’fairs 
to settle : somehow all my chillen was sold to go off but 
one. They let Lucy be sold with me, ’cause she was 
weakly like, and wouldn’t fetch much. I s’pose I ought 
to be thankful for her, but sometimes my poor old heart 
aches when I thinks ’bout my other chillen. And then,” 
continued she, “ I can’t sometimes help being afeared that 
Massa Felton will die, for it ’pears ’sif ebery ting is agin 
me all my life-time.” 

“ Don’t think so ; hope for better things. I am glad 
you like my brother.” 

“ Massa Felton’s your brudder, then ? ” 

“ Yes, Ruthy.” 

“ I’m sort of glad of it, ’cause somehow I tells by any- 
body’s face if they is good ; and I hopes you’s going to 
stay here.” 

“ During the winter I expect to. But where is your 
daughter ? ” 


28 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ She is in that little cabin out by the garden,” said 
Frank, before the woman could speak. “Shall we go 
and see her ? ” 

“ We will just look in upon her for a moment if you 
wish.” 

Frank eagerly led the way; for he always liked to visit 
Lucy, who had won his childish affections by her faithful- 
ness and devoted kindness. They found her looking very 
feeble, but cheerful, and busy with some light work, which 
she laid down at the entrance of her visitors. 

“ Auntie, this is Lucy,” said Frank ; “ it will take 
some days for you to learn the names of all our people.” 

“ Yet I shall learn them all,” answered his aunt, “ I 
dare say ; for I intend to become acquainted with all that 
belong here.” 

“ The field hands and all ? ” inquired Frank. 

“ Yes, certainly.” 

Lucy looked at Kate as if she would like to ask her 
the reason why ; and Kate, anticipating her wish, told her, 
that, as she was to make one of Mr. Felton’s family for 
some months, she would like to have it in her power to 
do something for the comfort and good of all his people. 
In order to do this, she must know them. 

“ This is the reason why I called upon you so soon. I 
heard your health was not firm, and I thought I could 
make your life more pleasant by a little attention.” 

“ Thank you, missee .; might know you’s massa’s sister 
widdout tellin’. I ’spects you’ll come agin.” 

“ I shall, Lucy ; but we must not stop any longer 
now.” * 

After a few more words of kindness and sympathy, 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


29 


Kate, with Frank, returned to the house. Mrs. Felton 
had joined the family, feeling greatly refreshed by her 
nap ; and a happier circle seldom gathered around a table 
than the one which surrounded Mr. John Felton’s social 
board on that evening. During tea, the time was improved 
by enlivening and endearing conversation. The son was 
rejoiced at having his beloved mother, and no less dear 
sister, inmates of his home. His wife and children sym- 
pathized in his pleasurable emotions, which made gladness 
the presiding genius on the occasion.” 

“ You have not told us yet how you came to leave 
your dear New England home,” said Mr. Felton to his 
mother ; “ but I infer from your appearance that you came 
in search of health.” 

“ Both pleasure and health I have come to seek, and 
feel pretty well satisfied already that I shall not seek in 
vain,” replied she. 

“ It shall not be my fault if you do,” answered her son, 
smiling. 

“ Nor mine,” repeated his wife. 

“ Nor mine, nor mine, nor mine,” echoed each of the 
children with animation. 

“ I feel grateful for your kindness and affection,” said 
Mrs. Felton, with emotion. “ Heaven never grants a 
greater or more welcome boon to parents than the ardent, 
unselfish devotion of their children.” 

“ Our love for you is not purely unselfish, mother,” 
said her son. 

“ No, certainly it is not,” added his sister ; “ you have 
made us love you, mother. Our regard is founded upon 
something beside the fact that you gave us birth,” 


30 


KATE FELTON ; 


Day succeeded day rapidly and pleasantly to the 
family at Groveton, with little variety of circumstances or 
scenes, for two or three weeks. Kate during those weeks 
received one or two letters from Mary Winthrop : those 
were precious missives. These friends had never been so 
far distant from each other before, and they fully appre- 
ciated the privilege of communication afforded them by 
Uncle Sam. They almost fancied that for their sake he 
was unusually punctual in that part of the country where 
Kate was, for they had been warned of his unsteadiness 
in that direction. Kate found useful and agreeable em- 
ployment for every day, — much, too, that combined both 
recreation and labor. She loved to stroll in company with 
her nieces around the plantation to enjoy the beauties of 
nature ; the songs of the feathered tribe were ever de- 
lightful music to her ears, while even the tiniest flower 
spake in language cheering to her loving heart. A little 
grove about a half mile distant from her brother’s house, 
composed mostly of small pine trees, was her favorite 
resort. Here she would seat herself, sometimes quite 
alone, to listen to the whispering wind among the green 
branches that spoke in soft cadence of the wondrous 
power of Him who created all things ; while the pressure 
of her feet upon the soft carpet of foliage fallen from the 
pines, reminded her of the provision made by God for 
man’s comfort. One morning, about a month after her 
arrival at Groveton, as she was sitting in this loved spot, 
while the girls had gone farther in pursuit of flowers, she 
was startled by a cry of distress at a little distance from 
her. She quickly arose, and went towards the place from 
whence the sound proceeded. It was not necessary, how- 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


31 


ever, to proceed far. The sound that had fallen thus 
painfully upon her ear grew more and more distinct. 

A girl, apparently about thirteen years of age, was 
running towards her ; pursuing, and close upon her, was a 
furious-looking man. The girl stopped, or was stopped 
by Kate, when she had reached her. 

“ What shall I do ? Oh ! what shall I do ? ” cried the 
girl in an agony of feeling. “ I can’t go.” 

“ Go where ? ” asked Kate. 

The man by this time had reached them, and halted a 
moment ; eyeing the poor child and Kate with an angry 
expression. 

“ Go where ? ” repeated the questioner; “ stop crying 
and tell me.” 

“ I don’t know as it’s any consarn o’ yourn,” said the 
man gruffly ; “ a man’s a right to do as he likes with his 
own child, I reckon.” 

“ Don’t be angry at my asking your daughter this 
question. I suppose from what you just said that you are 
her father, — are you not ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

u Well, then, please tell me where you would have her 
go ? I don’t wish to meddle unkindly with your affairs, — 
only, if possible, relieve the distress of this poor child.” 

The girl looked imploringly at Kate. The man 
frowned, and stood silently gazing upon the ground. 
Kate addressed the daughter again, — 

“ Where is it that you can’t go ? ” 

The girl, encouraged by what Kate had said, ventured 
to speak, — 

“ Off with that dreadful man who wants to buy me.” 


32 


KATE FELTON ; 


Horror-struck at the thought of a parent’s selling his 
own child, Kate looked all the consternation she felt at 
the miserable wretch before her, and asked him if he 
could think of doing such a thing. 

“ Yes,” said he, doggedly ; “ I’m obleeged to do it to 
live.” 

“Why?” 

“ ’Cause you see we’re poor whites, — ain’t nobody nor 
nothing. The niggers, though they be’d slaves, turn up 
their noses at us. We can’t git work to ’arn a livin’. 
There ain’t no place for us to be. We can’t get any thing 
to eat half the time ; and it’s no sort of use tryin’. A 
slave-driver tuk a fancy to Suke, my gal here, and is go- 
ing to give me thirty dollars for her. He says she’ll be 
treated well. She’s too pooty not to be.” 

“ Have you any other children beside this daughter ? ” 
inquired Kate. 

“ Yes, I’s got two more ; and I tell my old woman it’s 
no sort of use snivelling about Suke’s going away when 
there’s nothin’ else to be done. Folks must live, ye 
see.” 

“ Thirty dollars won’t support you long,” said Kate. 
“ What would you do after that was gone ? ” 

“ Oh ! just as we always has done, I ’spose ; — get what 
little I can by ketching fish, and once in a svhile shooting 
birds, and gettin’ a rabbit or so ; go hungry the rest of the 
time, and always have folks kick at us, and try to git rid 
of us.” 

“ If you could have employment provided for you, 
would you work every day in the week, for the sake of 
your family ? ” asked Kate. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


33 


“ Yes, I would, every day, and Sundays too. I’d like 
to do something ; but there ain’t no chance for poor 
white folks here, — the slaves does all the work. But I 
mustn’t stop here, — that man ’ll be waiting for me. 
Come, Suke ! You shall come back with me ! ” 

The poor girl screamed, and drew close to the side of 
Kate, as if she expected protection. 

“ Come on, I say ! ” said the man, almost in a tone of 
desperation. 

Kate placed herself between him and his child. 

“Wait one moment, my friend,” said she. 

The man paused, and stood, for a moment, motionless. 

“ If I give you thirty dollars, will you let your daugh- 
ter come and live with me ? ” 

“ With you ! ” responded the man. “ Golly ! yes, 1 
guess I will ! But you ain’t in ’arnest, I guess.” 

“ I am, indeed,” replied Kate, gratified to find a latent 
spark of the father in the bosom of even this miserable 
being. “ I will give you thirty dollars, if you will let her 
be mine to take care of.” 

“ I will, sartain.” 

“Well, you must sign a paper, promising to give her 
to me. Will you do this ?” 

“ I can’t write, — I never larn’t, you see.” 

“ But you can make your mark, and that will answer. 
Will you do that ? ” 

“ Sartain I will.” 

“ Where do you live ? ” asked Kate. 

“ ’Taint far from here,” answered the man. “ Over in 
the woods yonder.” * 

2 * 


84 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ I must see your family,” said she. “ But now I wish 
you to go with me for a few minutes. Have you been to 
breakfast?” 

“ No, nor to supper either. That’s what I wanted 
money to git.” 

“ I will see that you have some very soon,” replied his 
new friend, “ if you will go with me for a few minutes.” 

The fearful frown the man’s face had hitherto worn be- 
gan to pass away, as he followed Kate and his daughter 
— who walked by her side — towards the house of Mr. 
Felton. As they approached, Kate perceived several pairs 
of eyes at sundry doors and windows, regarding herself 
and company with looks of amusement. Ruthy was 
among the first to catch a glimpse of the trio, as they 
emerged from the grove. Lucy was with her mother, in 
the kitchen. At her call, she put down some apples she 
was paring, and ran to the window. 

“ Bress me ! ” said Ruthy. “ I can’t quite get ’quainted 
with Missey Kate, yet. Never seed the beat of her. I 
does bleve she has got some poor, dirty whites for comp’ny, 
dis ere mornin’. Ain’t dat her, Lucy ? ” 

“ It is, I dees bleve. Yes, dar, I sees her face.” 

“ I wonders,” said Ruthy, “ what she is gwine to do 
wid dem ere critters.” 

“ Noting wrong, modder, I knows. Missey Kate is too 
good for dat.” 

“ She sartingly is good to eberybudy ; but dis child’s 
afeered now she’s got ’posed upon by some ob der low 
white trash.” 

Kate entered the door of the kitchen, and requested 
Ruthy to get some victuals suitable for a breakfast for the 


OH, A PEEr AT REALITIEP. 


35 


persons who followed her into the room. Ruthy did not 
hesitate to do as she was told ; but brought some cold 
meat, with some bread and cookies, from the store-room, — 
to which she had free access, — and placed them upon the 
table. It was plain to perceive her equanimity was a 
little disturbed. Kate helped the girl to a portion, and 
gave some to the man, — telling him he had better hasten 
to sit down and satisfy his own appetite, and then carry 
some food to his wife and children. He did so, and ate 
as only a hungry man would eat; swallowing, at first, 
large mouthfuls without stopping to masticate them. Kate 
saw this, and kindly told him that was not the haste she 
desired him to make, but that he ought to take time to 
chew his food well before swallowing it, else it would 
hurt him ; adding, “ You shall have as much as you 
wish.” He partook of the cookies with peculiar enjoy- 
ment. 

“ I never got hold of any thing better’ll them are,” said 
he. 

Ruthy’s muscles relaxed a little at this avowed apprecia- 
tion of her cooking ; and Kate said, in her usual gentle 
tone, — 

“ I am glad you like them. Eat as many as you wish.” 

His stomach in due time ceased its craving ; and he 
arose from the table, and took in hand a basket full of v 
provisions Ruthy had put up to be taken to his wife. 

“ I s’pose I’m to leave this gal here,” said he, approach- 
ing the door, and casting a sort of sheepish look at Kate. 

“ Yes, certainly,” replied she ; “ and here,” going to- 
wards him, and handing him some money, “ is two dollars 
of the thirty. I shall go to your place in a day or two, 


36 


KATE FELTON ; 


and have it all settled. You must try to do better in 
future. I will see if you can be helped in any way.” 

He eagerly reached his hand for the money, which he 
tightly grasped, and departed. 

“Help them ere critters! I guess, Missey Kate, you 
dun no what you talkin’ ’bout.” 

“ I believe I do,” answered the young lady, smiling at 
Ruthy’s mood. 

“ Can’t think so,” said Ruthy. u Why, them poor 
whites is the miserablest set o’ critters in the world. No- 
budy tries ter do any thing for um, cause ye sees it’s no 
kind er use at all.” 

“ Ruthy,” said Kate seriously, yet mildly, u did you 
ever hear of a company of poor, helpless, sinful beings, 
entirely dependent upon a Friend for everything, who 
went so far in wickedness as to despise even this Friend? 
And yet many of these miserable offenders have become 
reconciled to this ill-treated Benefactor, and been pardoned 
by him ; and, more than that, he has adopted them as his 
own children, and promised them a home for ever, in his 
own lovely mansion, — some of them he has already taken 
there. Say, Ruthy, did you ever hear of such a com- 
pany ? ” 

“ La’s me, deary ! I knows what yer means. God has 
' been dat good ter us, ter me more’n all the rest.” 

“ Well then, tell me, ought we not to endeavor to be 
like Him who went about doing good ? ” 

“ Yes, deary, I knows we had.” 

“ Did you ever try to win one of the souls of these 
poor despised whites to Jesus ? Do you certainly know 
that they cannot be won by kindness ?” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


37 


“ No, no ; I don’t know. I has’nt tried dat are way ; I 
feels ’shamed of myself, I do sartin. I’se all wrong, 
Missey Kate ; and you’re right, ye allers is.” 

u Oh no, Ruthy ! far from it ! but I want your sym- 
pathy in my efforts in behalf of that poor child,” said 
she, pointing to the girl who sat in the doorway looking 
into the yard. “ I have just rescued her from being sold, 
and devoted to the worst of purposes, to save her family 
from starvation.” 

“ Oh, dat’s orful ! ” said Ruthy ; “ dat’s drefful to tink 
of. I will clar her up ; ’spose dat’s de first ting ter be 
did ? I’se grad you did’nt done let her be sole.” 

“ Yes, Ruthy. I’ll go to the house, and see if I can 
get some clean clothes for her ; and, while I am gone, do 
not let any of the servants say any thing unkind to the 
poor child.” 

“ I’ll try to keep um decent like ; but t’ll be kinder 
hard, for all de niggurs hate de poor whites dreffully. I 
seed Jim and Jake jist now round de corner thar, lookin’ 
’sif they was waitin’ for a chance to poke fun at her, as I 
heered a Yankee peddler say t’other day.” 

“ I would much rather they should poke their fun at 
me,” said Kate, as she left the kitchen. 

She met Jake after she had walked a few steps towards 
the house. She stopped, and bade him stop a minute too. 

“ Jake,” said she, “ what shall I give to you to pay you 
for being a good boy to me, and treating that poor girl in 
the kitchen kindly ? ” 

“ Does yer like her ? ” asked Jake, scratching his head 
at the moment. 


38 


KATE FELTON; 


“ I like to have her here,” replied Kate. “ I have 
taken her to take care of, and I shall feel any little wrong 
done to her as done to me. I hope none of the servants 
will say any thing to her that is not right. I like you 
all, Jake, and mean to do any thing I can for your good ; 
and I want you to do well for your own sake as well as 
mine. I will pay you for being kind to this girl, I say 
again.” 

“ 0 missey Kate ! don’t now ; yer’ll kill me, yer will. 
You’se been ever so much kinder ter me now than I de- 
sarve. I will be a good boy ter you allers. I didn’t 
know dat dat are gal was your’n, nor Jim did'nt nuther. 
We was gwine for to plague her a bit, but I’ll tell him 
how she’s your’n, and den nary one on us won’t tach her. 
No, Missey Kate, dis sher chile don’t need no more 
pay for to ’have his’self, I make sure. Ye’s dun lots for 
us now. I haint forgot how ye’se got the knot out of my 
kite-string, nor how ye gin me a nice collar ter wear 
Sundays.” 

Kate smiled approvingly upon Jake. 

“ I have not done all I intend for you yet, Jake ; and it 
will please me very much to have both Jim and yourself 
good boys always : remember to speak kindly to the poor 
white girl. Her name is Susan,” said Kate, as she left 
him. 

He answered, “ Yes, Missey,” with an awkward attempt 
at bowing and raising his cap. 

When Kate entered the house she found the family in 
a very lively mood, prepared to rally her upon her rather 
long absence, and choice of company on her return walk. 


OP, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


39 


“ I am glad you are pleased with my doings,” she 
laughingly replied. “ Smiles are so much pleasanter than 
frowns that I do love dearly to meet them ; but now I 
wish, sister Martha, that you would manifest your appro- 
bation of me by giving me something more substantial 
than smiles, though you may mingle as many of these 
rubies with your gift as you please.” 

“ What will you have, Kate ? ” 

“ An entire suit of Emma’s half- worn clothes.” 

“ An entire suit ! why, auntie, do you expect I shall be 
willing to let them go ? ” asked Emma. 

“ Yes, I doubt not but you are feeling willing this mo- 
ment, my dear.” 

Emma laughed heartily. 

“ You are so droll, auntie,” she replied ; rising to go for 
the clothes as her mother bade her. 

“ It will be better to go yourself, Emma, than to send 
a servant ; for the servants all feel any thing is too good 
for a poor white.” 

“ Cannot something be done to change the popular 
sentiment in this respect ? ” asked Kate. 

Mrs. John Felton paused a moment ere she replied ; for 
this was a home question, and she was at a loss for an 
answer. 

“ I don’t know,” said she at length, “ but possibly there 
might be ; but these poor creatures are so degraded, it is 
not much use to try to do any thing to benefit them.” 

“Not more degraded than the heathen,” responded 
Kate; “who will venture the assertion that it is useless 
to make efforts in their behalf?” 

“ I don’t know but you are right, sister, in your opi- 


40 


KATE FELTON ; 


nion ; if so, many of us are wrong.” Just then, Emma 
returned to the sitting-room, and displayed the suit of 
clothes she had selected. 

“ Will these do ? ” she asked, holding up several 
dresses, one of which was a light blue calico, and the 
other a dark brown gingham. 

“ I will have her put on the darkest one to begin with,” 
said Kate. She then selected a suit proper for the girl 
out of the articles Emma had brought, remarking, — 

“ I shall remunerate you for these and every thing else 
I take of you for my protege, her board not excepted.” 

“ If you speak of such a thing, sister,” said Mrs. John, 
“ I shall certainly quarrel with you right away ; use any 
thing you like for the poor thing, and I will watch your 
experiment with great interest I assure you.” 

Kate found, on returning to the kitchen, that the girl 
had not moved from the doorway where she had left 
her. 

“ Have you a plenty of warm water, Ruthy ? ” inquired 
she. 

“ Yes, missey,” replied that personage ; “ an’ some 
soap, combs, scissors, an’ all dat yer will want, out dar in 
de wash-room, all ready.” 

Kate took Susan to the place designated ; Ruthy fol- 
lowed, and wished to know if she could do any thing. 
Susan looked amazed, but did not speak. Her benefac- 
tress suggested to Ruth that it might be well for her to 
render some assistance, in order to secure a thorough 
ablution. This was done to the satisfaction even of 
Ruthy, who admitted that she should not be afraid to 
come in contact with the child any more ; for she was 


OR, A PEEP AT REAL1TIE3. 


41 


sure she was clean, — she had scrubbed her hard enough 
and long enough to clean any thing. 

“Now let me cut her hair right orf,” said the good- 
natured soul. 

“ I don’t like to have it taken off if it can possibly be 
avoided,” said Kate ; “ her head and hair can be cleansed 
without; besides, she is quite too tall a girl to wear short 
hair. I don’t love to see it either.” 

“ ’Taint much ’count for her any way,” said the other 
i dryly. 

“Take care, Ruthy, you are forgetting again.” 

“ La’s me ! so I is, missey ; but it’s so nateral like, I 
can’t haidly help it.” 

“ Look at this hair,” said Kate, as she raised a few 
locks of dark brown hair in her hand, that were hanging 
about Susan’s shoulders ; “it will be very handsome, and 
curly too, if it is properly cared for.” 

“ My hair be handsome ! ” said Susan, looking sur- 
prised ; “why I didn’t know as how it could be.” 

“Only comb and brush it well and often,” answered 
Kate ; “ my hair would not look better than yours if it 
was neglected as yours has been.” 

Susan was making some awkward attempts at clearing 
it from the tangles the while. 

“ Ruthy, perhaps you will succeed better than she 
does,” said Kate ; “ if not, I will try my skill.” 

Ruthy, with a comical expression, took the comb from 
Susan’s hand, and commenced combing the hair ; after a 
few moments she exclaimed, — 

“ I never did get inter sich a scrape’s this are afore ! 
I’se done, — broke more’n half de teeth out ob de comb 
a’ready.” 


42 


KATE FELTON ; 


a Let me see what I can do,” said Kate, taking the 
broken comb from the hand of the servant. 

“ Yer’ll git things all ober yer,” said Ruthy. 

“ I guess not,” replied Kate ; “ the camphor I have 
soaked her hair in will not leave any thing to annoy any 
of us.” 

With a little care, and considerable patience, Kate con- 
trived, with the aid of both brush and comb, to get Susan’s 
long-neglected, but really beautiful hair, into quite a 
passable condition. She divided it, and made two long 
braids, which she confined upon the back of her head with 
brown ribbon, in a very tasteful manner. She afterwards 
assisted her to fasten the gingham dress, which fitted 
nicely, — she being about the size of Emma, the original 
owner. Some neat boots, and a white apron fitting as 
well, completed her dress. When the good old soul, 
whose services had helped bring about this state of things, 
looked on delighted, — 

“ Now who’d a thought,” said she, “ dat dat are darty 
lookin’ thing would ha’ changed so. It ’pears dat aint 
de same gal, no how.” 

“ I am, though,” said Susan ; “ but am I allers to be 
dressed up so ? ” 

“ I hope and expect,” said Kate, “ you will always 
keep yourself neat; but come, you must now go with 
me into the house.” 

Kate led her into the sitting-room ; and the poor child 
hardly raised her eyes from the floor as her new friend 
introduced her to her mother, and brother’s family. They 
all spoke kindly to her, and then Kate took her directly 
to her own room. As soon as Susan was out of hearing 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


43 


of the company, they broke forth in exclamations of sur- 
prise and pleasure at the fine appearance of one whom 
they had all regarded as past improvement. 

“ I am sure,” remarked Mrs. John, “ she is a very 
pretty girl.” 

All concurred in this opinion ; and Mrs. Felton said she 
had hardly expected to see so fine a form and face, 
although she was aware that Kate’s judgment and taste 
was seldom at fault, and she had told her that the dirt 
concealed something pretty. 

“ Sister is good, kind, charitable, patient, — every thing 
that I want to be and can’t,” said Mrs. J ohn. 

“ I believe,” replied the mother, “ she strives to imitate 
the example of One who, when upon earth, ( raised the 
fallen and cheered the faint.’ ” 

“ Girls,” said Mrs. John Felton to her daughters, “ I 
hope you will be like this aunt of yours. I should rejoice 
to see you follow her example.” 

Mrs. Felton felt thankful to find her daughter was ap- 
preciated, in a measure at least, by her son’s family ; she 
had been apprehensive, before she left her home at Rose- 
field, that Kate’s straightforward, independent course 
might make her unpopular at Groveton. Now she was 
no longer anxious on that point ; for Kate was fast winning 
her way to all hearts with which she came in contact. 
When Kate and Susan entered the former’s room, the 
latter looked around at the furniture and arrangement of 
things with a bewildered air. 

« Sit down,” said K ite ; “ this is my room. And now 
I want you to tell me if you can sew any ? ” 

“ Not much,” replied Susan ; “ we didn’t never have 
much to sew, ye see.” 


44 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ Say you instead of ye, Susan ; try to remember that, 
will you ? ” 

“ Yees, marm.” 

“ Yes ,” said Kate ; “ say that.” 

“ Yes,” responded Susan quickly. 

“ Be particular, my dear, and notice how those speak 
who are careful to pronounce their words aright.” 

“ You do,” said the child. 

“ I mean,” answered Kate, “ to speak and act so that it 
will be safe for you to follow my example. Can you 
read any ? ” 

“ No, marm.” 

“ Would you like to learn ? ” 

“ Yes,” said she promptly. 

Kate smiled, and thought she would be an apt scholar, 
if she remembered other things as well as what she had 
told her in regard to pronunciation. 

“ I wish you to begin this very day,” she said. “ You 
must learn to read the Bible.” 

“ What’s that ? ” inquired Susan. 

u Don’t you know ? ” 

“ No, marm.” 

i( It is the word of God, given us to teach the way to 
heaven and happiness to us.” 

“ Who is God ? I never knew ; but I have heard the 
men say 4 By G — d,’ and ever so many other things.” 

“ That is very wicked. God is a being who has always 
lived. He made every thing and everybody. He made 
you and I ; and it is his wish that we should love to do 
right, and be happy for ever.” 

“ Where is he ? ” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


45 


“ Everywhere.” 

“ Not here ? ” 

“ Yes, in this very room. He is a spirit. We cannot 
see him, but he can see us.” 

“ Is he looking at us now ? ” asked the child, looking 
around the room. 

“ Yes, he sees us always.” 

“1 don’t like to think that.” 

“ Why, Susan ? ” 

“ If I ’m ugly, he’ll see me, I guess.” 

“ But you don’t mean to be, do you ? There is no need 
of that.” 

“ Can I help it ? ” 

“Tes ; — ask God to help you, and then you can.” 

“ How shall I ask him ? ” 

“ You must pray to him.” 

“ What’s that ? I dun’ no.” 

“ Say don’t know, Susan.” 

“ Don’t know,” she repeated. 

“ It is to ask him to do for us what we want.” 

“ Will you show me how ? ” 

“ I will,” said Kate ; for her heart yearned over this 
poor home heathen. 

She instructed Susan to kneel down by her side, as she 
knelt by the sofa, and offered prayer in “ the simplest form 
of speech.” She uttered not one word that was not plainly 
understood by the ignorant child. When they arose, Su- 
san remarked that “ it ’peared sort o’ queer to talk to any 
body you couldn’t see ; but, as the good lady did it, she 
thought it must be right.” 

Kate then commenced teaching her the alphabet, and 


46 


KATE FELTON ; 


soon perceived that the task of instructing her pupil would 
be far from unpleasant. She had a very retentive memory, 
and was eager to learn. She took hold of the needle 
rather clumsily, at first, but soon found it easy to take 
small stitches, as directed by her instructress. 

“ I shall love you, I know I shall,” said she to Kate ; 
“ you speak so pleasant, and say dear to me.” 

“ I mean to be kind to you ; and I hope you will always 
try to do right.” 

“ He will know it, if I don’t, won’t he ? ” 

“ Yes. Try to please God, and then you will do as I 
wish.” 

Kate devoted most of the afternoon to the instruction of 
her protege in various little matters very necessary for her 
to know, but of which she was wofully ignorant. She felt 
herself repaid for any sacrifice she made by Susan’s will- 
ingness to do as she wished. Leaving her employed in 
looking over a page of letters she had well-nigh learned, 
Kate joined the family, to consult them in regard to the 
position Susan should occupy in the household. Mr. Fel- 
ton, who had returned, after having been absent during 
the day, had been made acquainted with all that had tran- 
spired since morning. He was in a mood to rally his sis- 
ter upon her selection of a pet ; and he began to do so as 
soon as she entered the sitting-room, where he was cosily 
seated in an easy chair, with his feet in a pair of embroi- 
dered slippers, resting on another chair, or the back of one 
that stood near. 

“ Kate, I did not think you were quite so Quixotic as I 
find you are,” said he, laughing. 

“ Didn’t you? ” she answered, in a lively tone. “ Why, 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


47 


I thought you did. But never mind ; you will know all 
about me in time.” 

“ But really, sis,” said he, interrupting her, “you’ll find 
your hands full with this business you’ve undertaken. 
I’m afraid you’ll not succeed.” 

“ I don’t expect to by my own strength, John ; but I 
have been assisted in what I have done, and shall be in 
what I still purpose to do, by this girl, so providentially 
thrown upon my care. There is little romance, brother, 
in doing one’s duty. There may be some ; but that little 
phrase, * doing one’s duty,’ is a sober one, — earnest and 
real as the most staid could wish.” 

“Then you really think that duty demands all this of 
you, sister ? ” 

“ Should I have felt satisfied that I had done right, if I 
had neglected the cry of distress that caught my ear this 
morning, and led me to take this poor helpless one ? ” 

“ Perhaps not, sis ; and you shall have it all your own 
way,” replied he, rather soberly. 

“ I don’t wish it all my own way,” said she. “ I have 
come down now to consult you and Martha in regard to 
the place she is to occupy in the family.” 

“ That is something to be thought of, certainly,” re- 
marked Mrs. John ; then added, “ she is not to be a ser- 
vant, or treated like one.” 

“ I think she has the germs of something noble in her 
nature,” said Kate. “ I think it will be best to learn her 
to be like ourselves. I refer to table manners, and beha- 
viour in general.” 

“You are right, Kate. Still, I’m thinking you will 
need a set of rules, such as I have heard of, for behaviour 


48 


KATE FELTON ; 


in the different departments to which she will be intro- 
duced,” said her brother, laughing. 

“ She will not do as well if burdened with rules. Be- 
lieve me, she will learn any thing we attempt to teach 
her.” 

“ She is a very pretty looking girl,” said Mrs. J ohn. 

“ Do bring her down to tea, Kate,” said her brother, 
“ and let me see her ; — she must not eat in the kitchen, 
you know.” 

“ I will, if the whole family vote so.” 

All did vote thus ; and Kate, after entreating the 
younger members of the party tq be careful and not laugh 
at any blunders Susan might make, went to call her to tea. 
Susan had never seen so neatly a spread table before. She 
did not know how to conduct herself, and could not be 
expected to. At first, she was very stiff, and manifested 
a feeling of restraint that was almost painful ; but she had 
been told by her kind benefactress to notice those at table, 
and do as they did. Her power of imitation was consider- 
able ; and, even on that first occasion of sitting with the 
polite and refined at the social hoard, she was able to ac- 
quit herself far better than even Kate, with all her hope- 
fulness, had expected. Mr. Felton congratulated his sis- 
ter on her first attempts at “ civilizing the untutored,” as 
he called her efforts with Susan. 

“Not the first attempt,” said his mother. “She has 
been in this field of labor before now. Her first experi- 
ments were made at Rosefield.” 

“ She is young to be almost a veteran missionary, I de- 
clare,” replied John. “ And she makes me begin to feel 
ashamed of myself.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


49 


“ I n a sense, we should all be missionaries, always,” re- 
sponded the mother. “We shall not be in danger of do- 
ing too much good.” 

“ I am afraid for sister though, mother, honestly.” 

“ Afraid of what ? ” 

“ That she’ll get imposed upon.” 

“ Better endure that a thousand times, than not trust at 
all, my son.” 

“ Perhaps so,” was the faint rejoinder. “ But Kate must 
allow me to laugh at her, if she does not succeed with this 
poor white subject,” said he. 

“ Certainly,”- said Kate, gaily, as she at that moment 
entered the room, after haying attended her new charge 
back to her chamber, in order to give her brother an 
opportunity to express his pent-up thoughts and feelings 
in regard to her. 

“ You don’t find fault with her appearance, do you, 
John?” 

“ No, — she will make a splendid girl ; that is, she 
would if she belonged to the right stock.” 

“ She does, — she belongs to our stock.” 

“ Our stock ! What do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean, that she belongs to the same family that we 
do. She has the same Father, and I rather think he has 
given her better gifts than he has bestowed upon us ; and 
I shall feel honored, if he allows me the privilege of help- 
ing to bring out and improve these gifts.” 

“ Then you think she is gifted ! ” 

“ I do. She is very quick, and has excellent parts. 
She has mastered the whole alphabet in an hour or two, 
and seems to thirst already for knowledge.” 

3 


50 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ But you did not know this when you bought her.” 

“ I did not buy her. I repudiate the idea of owning a 
fellow-creature.” 

“ Take care, sis ! You needn’t hit upon facts, just 
now.” 

“ I can’t help people’s being in the way of facts’ hitting 
them ; but would, gladly, if I could.” 

“ There is no use in being angry at you, Kate. If 
there was, I should be, sometimes, certainly,” responded 
her brother. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIE3. 


51 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE SQUATTERS. THE PARTY. 

True to her promise, Kate, in company with her bro- 
ther, visited the miserable home of Susan’s father, in a day 
or two after that on which she took the girl from him. 
Her heart sickened as she entered it. She found the man, 
his wife, and two children, sitting at what was intended 
for a table. They had nearly finished their meal, when 
Mr. Felton and herself went in. 

4f I’ve come,” said Kate, “to do as I agreed to by you.” 

The man looked gratified. The woman arose, and, 
clearing some rubbish out of sight, handed a broken chair 
towards Kate, saying, — 

“ Sit down, if you can. I s’pose ye ain’t used to seeing 
such a poor place as this.” 

Kate took the offered chair, and said pleasantly, — 

“ I want to put you in the way of having a better home 
than this.” 

The woman stared, Mr. Felton looked comical, while 
Kate, seating herself, told the man she had brought a pa- 
per for him to sign. She then read it aloud, and requested 
him to pay attention, so as to know just what he set his 
mark to. The man nodded, and Kate read the document. 
It was a pledge to allow Kate the control of his daughter 
so long as she was a minor; promising, also, not to inter- 
fere with her in any way to cause trouble. Then followed 
a receipt for thirty dollars, received of Kate. To this he 


52 


K \TE FELTON; 


authorized Mr. Felton to affix his name, which was James 
Wilkins, and then added his mark. 

“ Now,” said Kate, “ here is the twenty-eight dollars 
which I owe you. I feel that you have a right to do with 
the whole amount as you please ; still, I should like to 
advise you in regard to disposing of a part of it, at least. 
Are you willing to hear me ? ” 

“ Yes, I am,” said the man ; staring at her as though 
he would get at her meaning. 

“ I don’t wish you to live in this way any longer, with- 
out trying hard to get out of it.” 

“ I’d like to, a sight,” answered Wilkins. 

“ Well then, Mr. Wilkins, suppose with some of this 
money you commence a small business. I have heard of, 
indeed known, a man who began his fortune with only 
one dollar.” 

“ What did he do with his dollar ? ” 

“ Why, he bought paper rags, and sold them for 
something more than he gave ; then he bought more, and 
sold again, and continued doing so until he was able to 
engage in a more profitable business. Afterwards he be- 
came a rich and distinguished man, although he started a 
beggar ; for the dollar was given him by a gentleman of 
whom he begged a morsel of food.” 

“ Do you think I could do any thing in that way ? ” 
asked Mr. Wilkins. 

“ I do : why can’t you as well as another poor man ; 
but, if you don’t like the idea of that business, you can 
do something else. You can buy little needful articles in 
somewhat large quantities, and then sell them in small 
quantities for more than you gave, by carrying them about 
the country.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


53 


“ Who will buy them, do you think ? ” 

“ Oh ! a great many people, my friends and others. I 
shall patronize you considerably myself. We use a great 
deal of thread, tape, yarn, and all such needfuls, at our 
house. Don’t you approve of my plans ? ” 

“ I do, and I am willing to begin.” 

“ Do,” said his wife. “ I’m sure the lady’s kind ; and, 
if she’s known of folks getting on with less, I don’t see 
why you can’t do something with some of this money. I 
shall feel some heart to try to clean up, and be somebody, 
if you do something like that.” 

“ Commence trader at once,” said Kate, “ and don’t 
be discouraged at trifles.” 

“ I’ll try,” said Wilkins, “ I will sartin ; but I wish I 
wasn’t a poor white.” 

“ Make people forget that you ever were one,” said the 
young lady, “ and then you will not think of it yourself. 
Let us all see that you can be in reality a man.” 

“ He will ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Wilkins, “ and we shall 
see better days. It seems so good to have such kind 
words spoken to us, and have anybody ’pear as if they 
cared for us that it makes me feel like crying out loud,” 
said she ; wiping the tears from her face, that were freely 
flowing. 

“ I will git some decent clothes, and a basket of things, 
by to-morrow, and begin,” said Mr. Wilkins. 

“ Come to our house, then,” said Kate, “ and we will 
be among your first customers.” 

She then gave the children some little cakes she had 
brought for them, and asked them if they would like to 
know how to read. They answered “ Yes.” 


54 


KATE FELTON; 


“ I wish I could learn,” said the mother. 

“ You shall, then,” replied Kate. 

“ How can I ? ” 

“ I will teach you if you will come to me two or three 
times a week, and spend an hour or more each time.” 

“ I will as soon as I can fix me up a little.” 

“ Don’t forget it,” said Kate, as she took leave of the 
family, revolving in her own mind a plan to enable those 
children to receive instruction. Her brother walked for 
a few minutes by her side in silence, as Kate tripped, with 
a light heart, over the smooth, soft, pine carpet that lay 
along their way. At length, raising his eyes to her face, 
and regarding her with a scrutinizing glance, he said, — 

“ It is a pity that you cannot shoulder the burdens and 
grievances of all mankind.” 

“ No it is not ; you are sadly mistaken in supposing it 
is.” 

“ Why ? ” 

“ Because, if I should do so, others would be deprived 
of the privilege of gladdening the hearts of their fellow 
beings, which yields as much comfort to the benefactor as 
it affords to those who are benefitted. You know that 
‘ it is more blessed to give than to receive.’ ” 

“ And yet,” said Mr. Felton, “ the more one gives, the 
more one receives.” 

“ That proves the words of our Lord,” answered his 
sister, “ who declared that those who gave should receive 
again good measure, pressed down, and given them by 
man. I see,” continued she, laughing, “ that you don’t 
feel as much like quarrelling with my notions of things 

you pretend to.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


55 


“ Because it’s of no use, Kate.” 

u Do you know the reason why ? ” asked she. 

“ I don’t know that I do exactly.” 

“ Well then, I’ll tell you: it is because I have ‘thus 
saith the Lord,’ upon my side ; and, like the great apostle 
to the Gentiles, you find it hard ‘ to kick against the 
pricks.’ ” 

By this time they had reached home. On entering the 
house, they found that company had arrived during their 
absence, — the Bev. Mr. Easyside, and a relative of Mrs. 
John Felton, whose name was Marshly. These gentle- 
men were presented to Kate when she entered the dining- 
room, to which she was summoned by the dinner-bell, as 
soon as she had arranged her toilet after her return from 
her visit to the squatters. Susan remained up stairs, 
while Kate went down, because that lady did not think it 
best to present her with visitors. The child in the mean- 
time employed herself in looking at some engravings that 
her friend had given her. Kate was pleased to see Mr. 
Easyside again, who came towards her in the kindest, 
most polite manner possible. 

Mr. Marshly was rather more distant, and a shade of 
superciliousness might have been detected in his manner 
towards her. Soon after they were seated at the table 
this gentleman remarked, addressing Mr. Felton, — 

“ I did not know until to-day that your sister had come 
South as a missionary.” This was said with a scornful 
curl of the lip. Kate, who fully • appreciated this speech, 
said, at the same time laughing, — 

“That is not strange, because my coming was not 
noticed in the public prints.” 


56 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ Then yon admit that you are a missionary,” answered 
the other, not knowing just how to understand her. 

“ Admit that you didn’t know, as you said just now,” 
replied Kate with mock gravity. 

“ But,” said Mr. Marshly, rather nonplussed, “ what 
is one to infer from what you are doing.” 

“ The truth, Mr. Marshly,” replied Kate. 

“ That your business is to make efforts to reform the 
vile, — is that the truth ? ” asked he. 

“ It is not my business more than that of others.” 

“ What others ? asked Mr. Marshly. 

“ Why, everybody ; all at this table, certainly,” was 
her reply. 

“ On what ground do you make this assertion. Miss 
Felton ? ” 

“ On the ground of truth.” 

“ Where do you find it ? ” 

“ In the Golden Rule, given us by the Redeemer of 
mankind,” replied Kate. 

“ That is a rule that governs few, if any.” 

“ Still it is a good one, is it not ? ” 

“ Why, yes ; but then all do not understand it alike.” 

“ Yet, Mr. Marshly, it is so plain that a wayfaring man, 
though a fool, need not mistake.” 

“ All people are not situated alike,” replied he. 

“ True,” answered Kate,” but all feel alike, all are 
alike ; only, to use the expression of another, some are a 
great deal more so.,” 

“ Those poor whites whose cause you have espoused 
are among those who are f more so,’ are they not ? ” 
retorted the gentleman. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


57 

“ In one way,” said Kate, laughing ; “ and you and I in 
another. If our classes were just right, would there be 
such abject wretchedness, as a general thing, among the 
poorer or poorest class of white people in this country ? ” 

“ I think not, Miss Felton,” remarked Mr. Easy side ; 
“ this state of things no doubt grows out of the institution 
of slavery.” 

“ "What should we do without slavery ? ” inquired Mr. 
Marshly. 

“ Far better than with it,” replied the reverend gentle- 
man, “ if we could only be rid of it ; but that cannot be 
thought of.” 

“ I beg leave to differ from your opinion in this case,” 
said Kate. “ If an institution is not right, it is wrong ; if 
wrong, it is sinful ; and no sin is to be allowed in our- 
selves or our brother.” 

“ Slavery of itself is a divine institution, Miss Felton,” 
said Mr. Easyside. “ It is only some of its surroundings 
that are wrong.” 

“ Where did this institution get its divinity ? ” inquired 
the senior Mrs. Felton. 

“ Why,” said the clergyman, looking at Mrs. Felton, 
in surprise, “ you must be aware that Abraham, the father 
of the faithful, was a holder of slaves.” 

“ I am not,” she replied. 

“ Did you ever read the book of Genesis, madam ? ” 

- “ Certainly, I have read all the Bible ; but I find not 
one sentence approving our system of slavery.” 

“ You say our system ; I thought you belonged to the 
North,” said Mr. Marshly. 

“ I do reside there when at home,” said she. “ New 
3* 


58 


KATE FELTON ; 


England was my birthplace ; but I cannot help feeling 
that I am not guiltless in the matter of depriving millions 
of my fellow-beings of the blessings of freedom.” 

“ But to return to our subject,” resumed Mr. Easyside ; 
“ Abraham had slaves, bond men and women.” 

“ True, but they were not held as our slaves are,” was 
the lady’s rejoinder ; “ and, more than that, they had the 
privilege of changing their situation every fiftieth year. 
Those that chose to remain, however, were marked by hav- 
ing their ears bored.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Kate, laughing, “ it is right to infer 
that they received a present of a pair of ear-rings ; though 
nothing is said about it.” Then, turning to Mr. Easyside, 
she said, with a comical look at his reverence, — 

“ Do you remember when the slaves here had such a 
jubilee ? ” 

“Miss Eelton,” — and he paused, at a loss for words. 
Kate laughed, and the gravest could not help smiling. 
Kate continued, — 

“ How ridiculous we make ourselves, don’t we, in try- 
ing to apologize for this plague-spot upon a nation’s 
glory ! ” 

“ You say we, too,” said Mr. Easyside. 

“ I mean it, also,” responded Kate ; “ for I feel that all 
belonging to these United States can and ought to adopt 
the language of Joseph’s brethren, and say, “We are 
verily guilty concerning our brethren, in that we have seen 
the anguish of their souls, when they besought us and we 
would not hear.” 

“ Then,” replied Mr. Marshly, “ you think we are all a 
pack of sinners, not excepting yourself.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


59 


“ I do,” answered Kate. “ It is no use for the North, 
in effect, to imitate Pilate, when ‘ he took water and 
washed his hands, saying, I am clean of this blood ’ of 
these millions. Let the South see to it.” 

“ For myself,” said Mr. Easy side, “the perplexity and 
inconvenience attending our peculiar institution have made 
me wish a hundred times that my forefathers had not left 
me such a legacy.” 

“ It is strange,” said Mrs. Felton, senior, “ that those men 
who had but just began to taste the sweets of independ- 
ence should be eager to fasten the yoke of oppression up- 
on their fellow-men. They offered a poor thank-offering 
for the benefits God had granted them. The compromise 
made or accepted by the North with slavery, is, to my 
view, the darkest feature in our country’s history.” 

“ But things must be as they are now,” said the clergy- 
man. “ It don’t help the matter to talk about it.” 

“ Will silence on the subject make it better in any way ? ” 
asked Kate. 

“No,” answered Mr. Felton, “silence will not change 
public sentiment ; and that is what must be done.” 

“ We enjoy the privilege of free speech, — all may say 
what they think,” said Mr. Marshly. 

“ You forget to except a few millions,” retorted Kate ; 

— “ those to whom our declaration of independence is a 
mockery.” 

- “ You interrupted me,” replied the gentleman, rather 
nervously ; “ but it is of no use to argue with people 
whose minds are made up, as are your mother’s and your 
own.” 

“ When one has a case to argue, it is,” said Kate, good- 


60 


KATE FELTON ; 


naturedly ; "but you have not, — there is not any thing 
to be said in favor of slavery.” 

"Well,” said Mr. Marshly, "I’m willing to drop the 
subject, for the present at least. I want to know what 
you expect to make of these poor white friends of yours.” 

"I don’t expect to make any thing of them, but 
encourage them to make of themselves as much as may 
be.” 

"That won’t be much.” 

" It will be something, however.” 

"No.” 

« Why ? ” 

" They are too degraded.” 

" Not for the gospel to raise and reassure them. I be- 
lieve this, — that f it is not by might nor by power, but 
by my spirit, saith the Lord.’ ” 

" I shall like to see the result of your efforts with these 
squatters, a few years hence.” 

" I hope you will live to do so, Mr. Marshly,” said 
Kate. " I may be too sanguine ; but I trust these people 
will never again become as low as they have been. We 
shall see.” 

" True,” was the gentleman’s rejoinder. 

The next day, Wilkins made his appearance at the back 
door of the long hall that extended through the middle 
of the house, with a basket upon his arm. His personal 
appearance was greatly improved ; so much so, that, at the 
first sight, Kate did not know him. He was clean ; and 
his clothes, though of coarse material, were more than 
decent. The articles in his basket were well selected ; 
and from them Kate took quite a number of little house- 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


61 


hold necessaries. Her mother and sister also bought seve- 
ral articles. The poor man seemed much pleased ; and 
expressed more gratitude than it seemed possible for a 
man, such as he had appeared only a few days before, to feel. 

“You must not expect to find such ready customers as 
we have been at every house you call at ; yet that must 
not dishearten you,” said Kate. “ I want you to perse- 
vere. Go right on. By the way,” said she, “have you 
ever signed a temperance pledge? Or, in other words, 
have you ever resolved and promised not to drink whiskey, 
or any ardent spirits ? ” 

Wilkins said he never had, and had been in the habit 
of drinking sometimes ; though he had not drank as much 
as he wanted, because he could not get it. Kate told him 
he was frank to acknowledge this. 

“ But you will give up whiskey, will you not ? ” 

“ What ! never take any more ! Do you mean that 
you want me to promise that ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Kate, “ and nothing less. Spirits hurt 
you. You do not need it at all. Other persons promise 
this ; why cannot you ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said he, moving his fingers uneasily 
upon the handle of the basket he had taken in his hand, 
preparing to leave. “ I’m afeered I couldn’t keep such a 
promise.” 

“You distrust yourself. I am glad of that. There is 
'more hope of you on that account. But are you willing 
to leave. off drinking ? ” 

“ I’d be right glad to do it,” replied the man. 

“ Then sign a promise that you will not. It will help 
you very much.” 


KATE FELTON ; 




Kate then produced a temperance pledge, to which he 
affixed his mark. 

“ I’m glad I’ve did that,” said he, after his mark was 
made. “ I feel better, somehow.” 

“ More like a man, I suppose,” said Kate, smiling. 

“ That’s it, I bleve,” responded he. “ Now you’ll see 
I’ll keep that ere promise one while.” 

is I hope you will,” replied Kate ; “ and I wish that you 
may be prospered in all your new undertakings. I trust 
that you will be. Who knows but that, in a year or two, 
you may be able to immigrate west, and buy land ? W ould 
not that be pleasant, to have a home of your own get- 
ting ? ” 

“ I’m sure it would,” said the man. “ That’s the right 
idee. I’ll try for’t, see if I don’t now.” 

He took leave of Kate in high spirits, and went on his 
way with a brisk step. Mr. Marshly, who was still at 
Groveton, had seen Wilkins, and, unobserved by any one, 
had heard the conversation that had passed between him 
and Kate. He now came forward, and with a laugh and 
shrug of his shoulders, in a sarcastic manner, congratu- 
lated her upon her success in her first attempt with the 
offscourings of creation,- as he styled Mr. Wilkins and his 
daughter. Kate answered pleasantly, not appearing to 
comprehend the drift of his remark, — 

“ Don’t be in too much haste to congratulate me, sir. 
Perhaps my hopes may be disappointed ; and then you 
would have to feel that you had been premature in your 
decision. Better wait, sir.” And she turned from him, 
and joined her mother and sister, in the sitting-room. 

She had hardly seated herself, and taken her work, 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


63 


when a visitor was announced. It was a niece of Mrs. 
John Felton’s. Her name was Julia Abbott. As she en- 
tered, her aunt gladly welcomed her, and presented her to 
her friends. Kate was much interested in her appearance. 
She was about seventeen years of age, about medium 
height, and her form was faultless. Her complexion was 
a beautiful brunette, set off by a lovely glow, that fluctu- 
ated with each passing feeling of her soul. Her eyes 
were dark, deep, and spiritual. Her mouth and teeth 
compared well with these ; while her hair hung in dark 
brown ringlets about her neck. 

“ I wonder if her countenance is an index to her soul,” 
thought Kate. “ I hope she is good ; — she looks lova- 
ble.” 

J ulia was lively and fascinating. Her company was a 
decided acquisition to the society at the plantation. Her 
sprightliness and humor delighted Emma and Rosa ; 
although they confessed to each other, that their Aunt 
Kate had a loveliness of voice and manner that Julia did 
not possess. She was a native of South Carolina. Her 
father was a slaveholder. She was so accustomed to 
colored servants, when on one occasion she was travelling 
at the North, she expressed great horror at seeing white 
waiters at table. It was, she thought, degrading to a 
white complexion to labor ; yet never, even for a moment, 
fancied that her father’s slaves were made for any thing 
else. Julia brought a servant to Groveton ; a kind, plea- 
sant girl, about eighteen years old, whose name was 
Hagar. This girl was free from the taint of Anglo-Saxon 
blood, consequently inherited the natural amiability and 
servility peculiar to the African race. From her child- 


64 


KATE FELTON ; 


hood she had been a faithful slave to Julia. She had 
always run at the faintest indication from her young mis- 
tress, to do her bidding. She did so now. 

Not many days passed after Julia’s arrival at Mr. Fel- 
ton’s plantation, before Kate was pained to be obliged to 
acknowledge that Julia Abbott was governed almost 
entirely by impulse. No fixed principle influenced her 
actions. She could not and would not bear contradiction 
at all. Her temper was easily ruffled. Kate, in her 
straightforward, yet kindest possible manner, pointed out 
to her the sinfulness and folly of this want of self-control. 

“ I wish I wasn’t so quick-tempered,” Julia would 
exclaim ; “ but I can’t help it, — I was born so.” 

“ That is no reason why you should remain so,” an- 
swered Kate. “We should get rid of our birth foibles. 
That is the design of our probation.” 

“ If you ever had any, you have got rid of yours, then,” 
replied Julia, with a smile. “ I wish I was like you.” 

“ That is not much of a wish. You ought to have a 
higher standard of excellence than that.” 

“ What is your standard, Kate ? ” asked Julia. 

The Bible, my dear Julia. I aim to reach the stan- 
dard of its heavenly precepts, but greatly fail in my at- 
tempts.” 

“ I should say, rather, you had been greatly successful.” 

On the morning following the conversation just related, 
as Kate was busy in her own room, Hagar, Julia’s maid, 
hurriedly entered, and begged her to go quickly to see 
her young mistress. 

“ What is the matter ? ” asked she, as in haste herself 
and the girl were on their way to Julia’s apartments. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


65 


“ Oh ! I dun no,” said Hagar. “ She dat faint. She’s 
so often.” 

On entering the chamber, to which Hagar led the way, 
Kate found Julia lying upon her bed. Her toilet had 
been made, and she was still dressed. Her face was pale ; 
and Kate, after making some inquiries respecting her feel- 
ings, proceeded at once to administer the requisite reme- 
dies. 

“ How long have you felt unwell ? ” inquired Kate, as 
she took the glass from Julia’s hand, out of which she had 
drunk a portion of reviving cordial. 

“ I didn’t rest well last night,” replied the invalid ; 
“ and I got so excited about my dress this morning, that 
it overcame me. I’m subject to fainting fits.” 

“ I am sorry,” responded Kate. “ May I ask the cause 
of your excitement ? ” 

“ Oh ! I only got provoked. You may go down stairs,” 
said she to her servant, “ for a little while.” She was 
obeyed, and then went on, — 

“ Hagar didn’t arrange my collar to suit me at all. I 
made her fix it two or three times over, but she didn’t do 
it to please me. I was so much vexed that I whipped her 
as hard as I could. This made me faint ; and I should 
have fallen, had she not caught me in her arms.” 

“ Whipped Hagar, did you say ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

, “ Can that be possible ? ” interrogated Kate. 

“ Why,” asked the other, “ is it any thing uncommon 
to whip a slave ? ” 

“ It is in this house, or on this plantation ; and I pity the 
people where such a thing is common.” 


66 


KATE FELTON j 


“ The blacks, I presume, have your pity,” said Julia. 

“ Not more than their owners. The case of the injured 
is not in the end worse than that of the injurer.” 

“ You consider slaves an injured people ! ” 

“ I do, — injured they are by this whole country. That 
portion of its sons and daughters who have not been actors 
in this tragical drama have looked on with far too much want 
of feeling for those of their fellow-beings who have worn 
oppression’s chains. But tell me, Julia dear, tell me can- 
didly, — did not you feel rebuked by the kindness of 
Hagar, in not permitting you to fall, when you were 
entirely in her power ? ” 

“ It made me wish I had not struck her.” 

“ Do you believe,” asked Kate, “ that you would have 
done as she did, had you been in her place ? ” 

“ No : I think I should have felt angry at one for 
striking me, and I don’t know that I shouldn’t have killed 
them ; but Hagar is only a slave, she is used to blows.” 

“ Only a slave, and used to blows,” repeated Kate very 
soberly. “ Julia, you shock me.” 

“ I wish I hadn’t struck Hagar,” said the other, a little 
nervously ; “ but I can’t help it now.” 

“ You can make restitution,” said her friend. 

“ How ? ” 

“ Tell Hagar that you regret striking her.” 

“ What ! confess to a servant that I feel that I have 
done wrong ? Never ! 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ It would degrade me in her opinion.” 

“You are mistaken ; it would exalt you. Whether or 
not you own it, the girl knows you have done wrong, and 
she will respect you more for admitting it yourself.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


67 


“ Should you respect me more, Kate ? ” 

“ Yes, I certainly should.” 

“ Well,” replied Julia, “ I’ll try in some sort of a way 
to make her understand my feelings without confessing 
them ; and I’ll try and not strike her again, as you seem 
so shocked.” 

“ I would not dare,” replied Kate, “ call a fellow-crea- 
ture mine in the sense you own a slave. Power is a 
fearful responsibility ; and, as one writer affirms, e it is re- 
sponsibility to its utmost limit.’ ” 

Kate did not mention the events of the morning to the 
family, farther than to inform them that Julia had suf- 
fered slightly from illness, and wished to be excused at 
breakfast. Hagar was called, and dispatched with some 
coffee and light food to her room, where she was found 
by the family, who, each and all, went to look in upon 
Julia after breakfast. Hagar was busy in the performance 
of little kind acts, which she thought might add to the 
comfort of her passionate little mistress. She had selected 
some of the prettiest flowers the season afforded, and ar- 
ranged them with care ; she was putting them into a vase 
of water just as Julia’s aunt entered the room. Hagar 
carried the vase to the bedside of her mistress, and asked 
her to look at the boquet. J ulia looked, and admired it ; 
but a pang shot through her heart as conscience told her 
she did not deserve such kindness from Hagar. The girl 
felt rewarded by a smile from the capricious young lady, 
and, not being needed, left the room. Soon all went out 
except Kate, who brought some needle-work and sat down 
by Julia’s bedside. 

“ Kate,” said the latter with a serious look, “ I am 


68 


KATE FELTON ; 


glad to be left with only you, for I feel nervous ; what 
you have said to me this morning has affected my feelings 
very much.” 

“ I can say, too, that what I have heard from your lips 
this morning has affected me. You have made a startling 
and degrading confession, which I hope you will never 
have occasion to do again.” 

a I haven’t confessed in words to Hagar, though I have 
tried to make her realize that I regret getting so angry at 
her about so foolish a thing as a collar.” 

“ I didn’t think you had told her ; I referred to your 
admission that Hagar was used to blows.” 

“ Kate, you are like my mother ; she used to grieve 
always when I struck any of the servants. She did not 
like being obliged to have slaves at all. You have re- 
minded me of her very strongly ; it seems to me I can 
see her as she used to look upon me when I would get 
into a passion. So mild and calm she always was, except 
when any thing occurred which she called injustice to the 
slaves. Then she would manifest great indignation. I 
remember the impression that her words at such times 
made upon my mind. I could not define then the idea 
I conceived of her, but I was conscious of respecting her 
the more for the stand she took against every species of 
injustice and wrong. Her indignation was virtuous, if 
there ever was any of the sort cherished.” 

“ You love her memory, Julia, don’t you ? ” asked 
Kate. 

“ I do indeed,” replied J ulia, while she wiped away 
the starting tear. “ I wish I was as good as she was ; 
although I don’t know that I wish to be exactly like her 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


69 


for father wouldn’t have patience with me. He didn’t 
with her always.” 

“ Hid your father become impatient at goodness ? ” 
asked her friend. 

u Why you see it disturbed him to have mother remon- 
strate so much with him about doing the servants wrong. 
W hen I was a very little girl, 1 remember hearing him 
say that he wished he was not obliged to be trammelled 
by mother’s foolish scruples of conscience, but be free to 
act like his neighbors.” 

“ Where did your mother imbibe her feelings in regard 
to this subject ? ” 

“ Oh ! they were born with her, I suspect ; for grand- 
father says she always was distressed because he kept slaves 
when she was a child. He freed several to oblige her ; 
and she gave free papers to all that were given her at or 
before her marriage. Grandfather has not had slaves for 
a long time : he says he feels that my mother’s ideas upon 
the subject were correct.” 

“ 1 suppose,” said Kate, “ your mother expected to in- 
fluence your father as she had done her own.” 

“ Yes, I dare say she did ; but my father is a different 
person. I think if mother had lived I should have been 
different.” 

“ In what respect, Julia ? ” 

“ I think I should not have indulged my temper as 
much as I have done ; but father does not dislike my 
doing so, if I am not ill-natured towards him, so that I 
have become a spoiled child.” 

“ Not entirely, my dear ; you can overcome this naughty 
trait of yours now , if you only make the attempts in good 
earnest.” 


70 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ If I could always live with such characters as my 
mother and yourself, Kate, I could. My character takes 
a coloring from the society I am with.” 

“ That you must guard against by cultivating a prin- 
ciple of right ; that will make you more independent of 
others.” 

“ But I am impulsive ; my feelings are very quick, and 
I give way to them without reflection.” 

“You may make some resolutions that would assist 
you.” 

“ So I can, and I will. I promise you now, that I never 
will strike Hagar again.” 

“Go farther, Julia: promise not to whip any of your 
father’s slaves.” 

“I will. I trust I can keep my word, if I do get 
angry.” 

“ Don’t try to do this, or any thing else, in your own 
strength, my dear friend ; but look above to Him who is 
ever ready to help the feeblest in their struggles with sin.” 

“I wish I was a Christian,” said Julia, thoughtfully; 
“ my mother was.” 

“ You must become one,” replied Kate. 

At that moment a servant came to inform Kate that 
some poor whites were waiting in the kitchen to see her. 
The servant was none other than Jim, one of the lads 
whom Kate disappointed in their plans for teasing Susan, 
when she was brought to the plantation. Jim loved fun 
immoderately, and to him there was nothing better to be 
thought of than making himself and others merry at the 
expense of any poor whites that fell in his way. 

“ They is sich poor trash,” he would say ; “ they is no 
’count at all.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


71 


Cn this occasion he tried in vain to conceal his roguish 
expression of countenance. His eyes were brimful of 
fun, as he lingered at the head of the stairs to say a few 
words to Kate, as she came out of her friend’s room. 

“ Missee Kate ! ” said he, as soon as he saw her advanc- 
ing towards him, “reckons you dun no what smart- 
lookin’ uns ye’s gwine ter see dis sher mornin’ in de 
kitchen. La’s me ! they he’d dressed fit ter kill, them 
poor whites is ! ” 

“ How, Jim ? — what do you mean ? ” asked the young 

lady. 

“ Why, them ar poor critters is im’tating other folks, — 
they’s raal decent.” 

“ Ho you mean Wilkins’s family, Jim ? ” 

“ Reckons I does,” said the boy, with such a grimace, 
that Kate could hardly refrain from smiling, he looked so 
comical. 

<c Well, Jim, why are you so amused about it? Are 
you not glad to see them improving ? ” 

“ La’s yees, um ! Only I can’t help a larfin’, cause 
they’s so stiff about it, — dun no how to act ! ” 

“ Don’t laugh at them, Jim ; will you ? ” 

“ No : cause ye don’t want me ter, that’s all.” 

Kate went out to the kitchen, where she found Mrs. 
Wilkins and her two youngest children decently dressed, 
awaiting her coming. According to agreement, she had 
before this come several times, and received instruction 
from Kate. This morning she appeared with her children, 
much more neatly dressed than on any former occasion. 

“ Good morning, Mrs. Wilkins ! ” was Kate*s saluta- 
tion when she entered the room, and that person arose to 


72 


KATE FELTON ; 


meet her. “ And good morning, Sally and John!” said 
she, as she extended her hand to each of them. “ I am 
glad to see you appearing so well this morning. I hope 
your husband is doing nicely too,” continued she, address- 
ing Mrs. Wilkins. 

“ Oh ! very nicely, mum,” replied the woman ; “ and 
I’m so glad we ever see ye. I tell my man ye’s saved us 
from a drefful sight of trouble.” 

“ Look higher than me, my friend : it was God who 
put it into my heart to help you. You should thank 
him.” 

“Well, if he did that, he is good, any how; and I 
ought to love him.” 

“ He did do it, Mrs. Wilkins ; for, without his Spirit, I 
should not have been interested for you, as I have been, 
and still continue to be. I cannot feel satisfied until you 
become acquainted with Him, and a friend to this, your 
best, your highest friend.” 

“ My man — ” began the woman. 

“Do call him Mr. Wilkins when you speak of him to 
any, except your children,” said Kate ; “it sounds so 
much better than my man.” 

“ I will, then. Mr. Wilkins says he can’t forget what 
you said to him about God : he thinks of it every day.” 

“ I am glad he has not forgotten that there is a God,” 
said Kate ; “ I hope both himself and you will soon learn 
to love and trust him.” 

Mrs. Wilkins improved every day in her attempts to 
learn. She was pleased and encouraged by the interest 
her young and disinterested friend manifested in her wel- 
fare. She strove in every way to do as she was desired 


OR, A PEEP AT REAI1TIES. 


73 

by Kate, and seldom let an opportunity pass unimproved 
of telling her how very glad she felt that she chanced to 
be at the grove on that morning, to save Susan from being 
a slave. Kate was often rallied upon her missionary 
efforts : she always laughed with those that made them- 
selves merry at her expense, and never did she intention- 
ally cast a shade over her brother’s household. Susan 
gained constantly upon the good-will of the whole family. 
In every thing she gave satisfaction. Emma and Rosa did 
not shrink from playing with her. She was always yield- 
ing in all little matters, where an accommodating dis- 
position was desirable ; besides, she made herself useful 
whenever she could. Time flew on apace. Weeks passed 
rapidly away, and months did not tarry long. The season 
appointed for the return of Mrs. Felton and Kate was 
hastening onward. 

No one at her brother’s loved to think of parting with 
this lovely girl. The mother had made herself beloved ; 
but Kate had gained a much larger share of affection 
among all the members of the household. Being active, 
and enjoying good health, she delighted to mingle as much 
as possible wdth the people, — more than her brother at 
first really approved of her doing. Afterwards, when 
he saw that no ill effects followed this course of Kate’s, 
he ceased to give himself any anxiety upon the subject. 
Kate was glad that his own observation had convinced him 
of that which argument had failed in doing, — that persons 
must not stand too much aloof from those they aim to 
benefit. 

“ You see, brother,” said Kate to Mr. Felton one day, 
as she came into the room where he was sitting (he had 
4 


KATE FELTON ; 


74 


been regarding her with a significant smile as she ap- 
proached the house), “ that not one of all these poor 
people who appear to love me so well, and are loved by 
me in return, would expect me to invite them to visit me 
at any time, when I might have guests of a different class. 
Their good common sense teaches them what is proper, as 
I believe it does generally in such cases. You need never 
fear that any being will be injured by kind treatment. 
No, John ; such treatment often has reclaimed the wan- 
derer from virtue. I adopt the sentiment of one who 
sang, ‘ Kind words can never die.’ ” 

“ I will not gainsay you, sis,” replied her brother ; “ I 
believe you are nearer right than I. But I must not for- 
get to tell you, that we are all invited to spend to-morrow 
at the home of our friend, Mr. Easyside. Mother says 
she will go if you wish to ; and, for Martha’s sake and 
mine, you must wish to, for we wish very much to have 
you go. You know you have been abroad but little since 
you came here ; and I feel as if I had not done quite right 
in keeping you so much at home.” 

“You have not kept me at home, John. Mother’s 
health has been the reason why I have not left home 
more ; but, now she is better, if she can bear the fatigue 
of this contemplated visit, I will go with you all.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


75 


CHAPTER V. 

THE PARTY. 

Mrs. Felton was able to attend the dinner-party, to 
which they were all invited ; and on the next morning, 
being joined by Mr. Marshly, who had not as yet re- 
turned to his own residence, they started, at rather an early 
hour, for Mr. Easy side’s mansion, that they might take 
the longest way, and thus enjoy a ride, upon one of the 
most delightful mornings that was ever enjoyed, even at 
the sunny South. The air was clear, and mildly invigorat- 
ing to the spirits of the happy party, who saw much to 
admire in the woodland scenery through which their route 
lay. Nature, who, as Wordsworth says, — 

“ Never did betray 
The heart that loved her ! ” 

was striving to make each hillock and grove attractive to 
the most careless observer. Mr. Felton, with his wife 
and mother, occupied one carriage; while Julia, Kate, 
and Mr. Marshly rode in another, close behind them. 
The last mentioned was in high spirits : he seemed ex- 
actly suited with his company, and never troubled himself 
to find out whether his feelings were reciprocated by his 
, companions. In reply to Kate, who made some appro- 
priate remark upon the beauty of the morning, he said, 
“ You don’t begin to have such loveliness tts this at the 
North, Miss Felton.” 

“Not so early in the season, I admit. Nature begins 


76 


KATE FELTON ; 


her yearly painting at the South, but gives her finishing 
touches at the North. I love her penciliings, wherever I 
see them, and feel to ask, with Thomson, 4 Who can 
paint like Nature ? 5 Truly, as that poet has affirmed, 
imagination cannot boast, amid its gay creation, hues like 
hers ! ” 

“ You are an enthusiastic admirer of poetry, as well as 
of nature,” observed Mr. Marshly, regarding her beaming 
countenance the while. 

“ I am, certainly ; and of everything else that is beau- 
tiful, and I may add good.” 

“ It is a happy thing for you that you are so consti- 
tuted,” rejoined the gentleman ; “ because you don’t see the 
plain matter of fact that most people are annoyed with.” 

“ You mistake there, Mr. Marshly : those who enjoy 
the pleasures of life most ardently suffer from its ills most 
keenly.” 

“ I should suppose, Miss Felton, that you had ever 
been one of those favored ones who escape the ills of life.” 

“You have judged hastily, I suspect,” said Kate ; “if 
there are any who do not experience trials, you may be 
assured that they are cheated out of their rightful legacy. 
There is no class like that you appear to think I belong to.” 

“ But how is it, then, that you are always cheerful ? ” 

“ I strive against sadness, feeling it is a sin ; for, as the 
poet has it, ‘ ’Tis impious to be sad.’ ” 

Julia joined in the conversation, and contended that one 
could not help these feelings. Kate thought that measur- 
ably we could’be and feel as we chose. The conversation 
was kept up in a lively strain, until they reached their 
stopping-place. Mr. Easyside received them with great 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 77 

cordiality. Many guests had arrived before them, and 
they were chidden by their host for their tardiness. Thev 
plead guilty to the charge of loitering, but declared the 
morning was in fault, not them. Among the ladies 
assembled in the drawing-room, Kate noticed a counten- 
ance which she at once recognized as belonging to the 
lady who had been her travelling-companion from Rose- 
field to Albany. This individual had been invited by 
some particular friends of Mr. Easyside, she being their 
guest at the time. She was characterized by the same air 
of self-complacency and hauteur that distinguished her 
when Kate first saw her. In a moment, however, Kate 
ceased to think of her presence ; for memory brought be- 
fore her the image of another closely associated with her 
in the recollections of that journey. 

“ Would I could see him again ! ” thought she, hardly 
conscious of her own feelings. Then she thought of the 
probabilities of meeting him at some future time, and 
almost involuntarily offered a prayer to that effect. Kate 
had little time to indulge these feelings, for Mr. Marshly 
was almost persecutingly attentive ; so that it was a relief 
to her to hear the announcement of dinner, for she hoped 
that he would feel obliged to divide his attention between 
Julia and herself. In this, however, she was doomed to 
disappointment. He had contrived to provide her friend 
with ah attendant ; one who, if not exactly suited to her 
taste in some respects, afforded her a fund of amusement. 
He was a young sprig of nobility, that had never been 
grafted into anything calculated to impart strength and 
beauty to his character. He loved personal beauty, there- 
fore was attracted by Julia’s lovely face. He loved 


78 


KATE FELTON ; 


approbation exceedingly, and he endeavored to please all 
with whom he came in contact. He dared not cherish an 
independent opinion upon any subject, but waited to hear 
the opinion of those he thought his superiors, before he 
ventured to think at all. He never dissented from the 
views of such, or stopped to inquire whether they were 
right. His name was Platon; but Julia, ere dinner was 
over, named him Mr. Pliable. Her seat at table was 
between this gentleman and Mr. Marshly ; Kate being 
seated at the right hand of the latter gentleman. 

“ How I wish you would change seats with me, Mr. 
Marshly!” said Julia, with a mischievous glance, first at 
Kate, and then at Platon. 

“ Why ? ” asked he. 

“ Oh ! I think it would be an excellent plan.” 

“ But why will you not tell me ? ” 

“ Oh ! I think you had better not know, if you cannot 
guess.” 

“ How can I ? ” 

“ Perhaps you cannot ; you are not a Yankee, are 
you ? ” 

“ No. But don’t you like Mr. Platon ? ” 

“ Yes, what there is to like.” 

“ Is he not a most agreeable person ? ” 

“ To some, I suppose ; but he is a perfect Mr. Pliable.” 

At this juncture, the gentleman who had been the 
subject of these remarks, turned his face towards Julia, 
who blushed at the consciousness of the risk she had run 
of being overheard. 

“ Why, Miss Abbott ! ” said he, “ you look disturbed. 
I have been too much engaged, and neglected you, I fear.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


79 


“ No, Mr. Platon, you have not neglected me ; I assure 
you I have not had such a thought.” 

“ You are very good to excuse me so readily,” said he. 

“ Why, Mr. Platon, do you mean me to understand 
that you have been neglecting me to test my patience ? ” 

“ No, no. Miss Abbott, I do not ; but I thought some- 
thing was wrong by your looks.” 

Julia was in agony. She really wished he knew the 
reason of her blushes, but thought it hardly right to tell 
him. Kate was greatly amused also, — she joined Julia 
in wishing her seat could be exchanged with that of the 
officious gent beside her, but this might not be. Mr. 
Platon after this made himself more than ever ridiculous 
by his too great attention to the lady, who heartily wished 
him anywhere but near her : he, poor man, felt sure it 
was his turning to speak to another lady for a few minutes 
that had disconcerted her so. He would not, he said to 
himself, offend again in that way. His self-conceit pre- 
vented him from even imagining that he was any thing 
but agreeable to the ladies. He bowed, and said soft 
things, as if he supposed women were entirely destitute 
of common sense, and must be treated like dolls. He was 
proud of his company on this occasion, and made himself 
quite conspicuous at the table, and was called very polite 
by some who saw only the surface of things. 

Mrs. Felton was seated between her son and his wife, 
at the end of the table opposite the young people. Mrs. 
John Felton noticed with some satisfaction the interest 
manifested by Mr. Marshly for Kate. He was her re- 
lative ; besides, he was a highly respectable man. Al- 
though in easy circumstances, he had not formed any 


so 


KATE FELTON ; 


matrimonial engagement. Mrs. John watched closely, if 
possible to discover if Kate reciprocated his regard, but 
observed nothing in her manner to lead to such a suppo- 
sition. Another looked earnestly at the party as if to 
satisfy herself that she had seen one of their number 
before. This was Mrs. Upton, the lady whom Mrs. Fel- 
ton and Kate had seen in the cars. She sat next to Mrs. 
John Felton, and, after being convinced that Kate was 
the young lady who had before excited her interest and 
curiosity, ventured to inquire of that lady if she knew 
her. Being answered in the affirmative, she begged to 
know her name. 

“ Kate Felton,” replied the other. 

“ Is she a relative of yours ? ” 

“ She is my husband’s sister.” 

“We travelled together from Kosefield to Albany last 
autumn, and had some conversation on different subjects : 
she has some peculiar ideas for a young person.” 

“ "What ideas do you refer to ? ” asked Kate’s mother, 
who was introduced to Mrs. Upton at the moment. 

“ Why, the thoughts she expressed upon labor, and 
equalizing the different classes in society, if I understood 
her.” 

“ You could not have understood her rightly then, be- 
cause she never advocates a position that cannot be sus- 
tained, and she does not think there can be perfect equality 
among men ; but she shall have an opportunity to explain 
her meaning by-and-by.” 

“ I want an introduction after we return to the parlor,” 
said the lady. 

Mrs. Upton’s wish was gratified. She was formally 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


81 


introduced, and Kate soon found herself well-nigh encircled 
by friends who were desirous of hearing the stately Mrs. 
Upton speak. She had seemed so exclusive, so reserved, 
so proud, that Julia wondered greatly at seeing her at 
once addressing her friend on familiar terms. Kate pre- 
sented her brother, Julia, and Mr. Marshly. Mr. Platon 
had made her acquaintance before. The circle were en- 
gaged in conversation. Mrs. Felton claimed for her 
daughter the privilege of defending herself from the 
charges brought against her by Mrs. Upton ; and this was 
done admirably. 

“ You misunderstood me entirely,” said Kate ; “ and I 
hope I do the same in regard to your meaning. I don’t 
love to feel that there are any who have the good of their 
fellow-beings so little at heart as to be willing to see any 
degraded. All by nature are possessed of equal rights. 
The opinion of slave-holders does not alter this fact at all. 
God has given to all men the privilege of making the 
most of themselves. He has made men free agents, but 
he has not endowed all with like gifts or tastes : one en- 
joys doing one thing, and another something very dif- 
ferent. All belong to one great family ; but, as it is in the 
great family gathering in New England on Thanksgiving, 
those of congenial feelings are drawn together in little 
circles for social converse. This is most enjoyed.” 

“ Well, but you d'o not confine yourself to the society 
of those congenial to yourself.” 

“ When I seek recreation I do. 

“ Shall I understand that you were seeking recreation 
in the car when you condescended to that shabby man ? ” 

“ I did not see such a one as you describe ; I conde- 
4 * 


8 3 


KATE FELTON ; 


scended to no one. The gentleman you allude to was our 
superior, in my opinion.” 

Mrs. Upton was not pleased at this remark : she be- 
trayed her annoyance ; and Julia laughed, for she knew 
who was the subject of it. She had heard Kate speak of 
this interesting, care-worn stranger, and had so exalted an 
opinion of her judgment and taste, that what Mrs. Upton 
had said appeared to her very ridiculous ; others joined 
her in expressions of merriment. The pretender to dig- 
nity, however, was not to be baffled without making an 
attempt to turn the laugh upon her young friend. 

“ I shall believe in love at first sight after this,” said 
she ; “ I have often heard that love covers deficiencies, and 
I see that in this case his poverty was hid from your eyes.” 

Kate smiled somewhat sadly, and replied in a kind 
tone, that she regretted to learn that in Mrs. Upton’s opi- 
nion poverty was a disgrace. 

“ I do not so consider it. It is plain the person you 
alluded to is contending with adverse circumstances : but 
he is struggling, — he is not idle ; and I should not be at 
all astonished, if, at some future day, you behold him ele- 
vated far above your social position in society, or mine* 
He is noble ; he will become, if his life is prolonged, a 
great man.” 

“ Oh ! you are too romantic.” 

“ I repudiate the charge. There may occur, there have 
occurred, things stranger than this. He may put off his 
threadbare dress, and attire himself richly, easier, or as 
easily, as we can retain our more costly style of dress. A 
person’s present surroundings are not what we should esti- 
mate them by, but rather what is in them.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 83 

Mr. and Mrs. Easy side now came towards the party, 
and requested Kate to take a seat at the piano. She com- 
plied ; and every thing else was, for a time, forgotten by 
the company, who listened with delight to the rich strains 
of music produced by the instrument at the touch of her 
practised fingers. Mr. Marshly was entranced ; and stood 
near, turning over the leaves of music in the most lover- 
like manner possible, until piece after piece had been 
played, and the performer left the piano. Mrs. Upton 
well-nigh begged an invitation of her and Mrs. Felton to 
visit them, and they invited her. Julia was glad, and 
told Kate, in a whisper, that she should see a great deal 
of her highness. The guests all took leave of their 
reverend host at an early hour. The Felton party were 
among the first to depart. The ride home, if not as de- 
lightful as that of the morning, was very pleasant, and 
enlivened by social chit-chat. 


84 


KATE FELTON ; 


CHAPTER VI. 

A LUDICROUS SCENE. 

Not many days after the party, Julia received a call 
from Mr. Platon. Kate was below, and knew of his 
arrival first. She did not think it any thing remarkable 
that he should have called, and went immediately to in- 
form Julia that she was wanted, and by whom. 

“ O Kate !” said Julia, “ what shall I do ? ” as soon as 
her friend had spoken. 

“ Do ! why, go down and see him, to be sure ; that 
is the only thing proper to be done.” 

“ But you don’t know what a fix I am in.” 

“ In what way, dear ? ” 

“ Why, I made that simpleton believe his visits would 
be agreeable to me. I took back what I said to encourage 
him, and told him at parting that I was only jesting ; 
and he told me that I should know, some time, whether 
or not he believed me. I have not spoken of it before, 
because I have been flattering myself that he would not 
come. But there it is ; how I shall be laughed at ! ” 

“ Never mind, Julia,” said Kate; “go down, and 
make the best of it.” 

“ I’ll try to. But I wish you would have a beau too. 
I don’t see why Mr. Marshly can’t come and see you. 
Misery loves company, you know. Besides, if there is 
somebody else to notice, I shall be the less regarded. 
But I must go.” 


OK, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


85 


Saying this, Julia descended the stairs, her handsome 
features glowing with animation, which was produced by 
the amusement she felt, and struggled hard to conceal. 
When she entered the room, where Mr. Platon was 
awaiting her, he arose, and approached with all the con- 
fidence of an accepted lover. She was polite, but re- 
turned his salutation with coldness and reserve. 

“ I did not expect to see you here, Mr. Platan,” said 
she. 

“ Did you not give me leave to visit you ? ” 

“ No, — in earnest, I did not ; but told you, in the last 
words I spoke to you before I left Mr. Easyside’s, that I 
did not mean what I had said upon the subject ; and 
I had trusted you understood me.” 

“ Miss Abbott, I do understand you to be a very un- 
assuming young lady. You thought, perhaps, you were 
hasty in accepting my attentions, and shrink from the 
thought of my considering you forward ; but, believe me, 
I do not. I appreciate your motives, and admire your 
modesty.” 

“ But I am in earnest now, Mr. Platon. I did not 
mean you to understand as you have. I cannot receive 
your visits, and hope you will not trouble yourself to 
visit me again ” 

“ Then you have not the lively preference for my 
society that your conduct towards me implied.” 

“ I did not intend to give you such an impression,” 
answered Julia. 

“ Then I was deceived in you.” 

(( I did not expect such a result as this, just from an 
innocent joke,” said she. “ I regret what I have done ; 


86 


KATE FELTON ; 


and, if your feelings have been injured, I hope you will 
forgive my part in the affair.” 

The young gentleman now believed her in earnest ; but 
her manner was so frank and kind, that he could not find 
it in his heart to be angry with her. He told her this, 
and they parted on friendly terms, after having been in- 
vited to take tea with the family, — an invitation which, 
notwithstanding the dilemma in which he found himself 
placed, he accepted with great apparent pleasure. Julia 
treated him with great consideration. Her manner to- 
wards him was frank, and entirely free from restraint. 
Kate, who was the only one in her secret, wondered how 
the- case had been disposed of. That all difficulties were 
settled she was sure, from the appearance of both parties. 
She did not, however, have to wait long after the gentle- 
man took his departure, ere Julia sought her, and gave 
her an exact account of all that had passed. 

“You did nobly, Julia,” said her friend. “It is 
always best to be guarded on the point of amusing our- 
selves with the weaknesses of others ; you were in fault 
to make him think you had fallen in love with him, but I 
hope he will learn a good lesson from his mortification.” 

“I hope so too ; but then I’m afraid he will forget it 
all too soon, for he is one of those ridiculous mortals who 
imagine that a lady loves every man she treats civilly.” 

“He will probably then, in future, consider you an 
exception to this rule, I presume,” said Kate. 


OB, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


8T 


CHAPTER VII. 

“ Seek a good wife of thy God, for she is the best gift of his providence.” — 
Ttjppek. 

Julia’s visit had been protracted, week after week, 
since the time set for her return home had gone by. She 
had written to her father, to gain, if possible, his consent 
to her remaining as long as Mrs. Felton and Kate should 
stay. Therefore, with pleasure she opened a letter that 
was handed to her the morning after Mr. Platon’s visit 
had been made, and read the welcome assurance that she 
had her father’s leave to remain as long as she chose, 
if that was not to be the whole of the approaching sum- 
mer. She read this part of the letter aloud to her aunt, 
who was the only person present at the time. 

“ Oh, I am so glad ! ” said she ; “ for I do enjoy staying 
here very much indeed. I love Kate dearly. I love to 
be with her.” 

“ You are not the only one who loves her, Julia.” 

“ I know that. I am sure that she is loved by all in 
this house ; and I think by every one else that knows 
her.” 

“ I am aware of th^t, Julia ; but I refer to one in par- 
ticular.” 

“ To a gentleman, auntie ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Mr. Marshly, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Yes. I think he has been very attentive to Kate.” 

“ I fancy rather too much so. I don’t think she greatly 
prefers him to the rest of us.” 


88 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ I am afraid she don’t, but hope she will learn to love • 
him.” 

“ You wish her to, then.” 

“ I do,” replied her aunt, “ but have not before spoken 
upon the subject, except to your uncle.” 

c4 Mr. Marshly has not been here for a week, I believe, 
has he, Aunt Martha ? ” 

“ No, he has not ; but your uncle expects him to-mor- 
row.” 

Julia thought much upon the subject of this conversa- 
tion, but did not speak of it to her friend. The morrow 
came, and brought the gentleman, as Mr. Felton had ex- 
pected. Kate’s countenance, when she met him at din- 
ner, was a shade less cheerful than usual. Toward him 
she was frank and courteous ; but in this she evinced no 
partiality. A close observer might have detected a slight 
reluctance, on her part, to taking a seat beside him. She 
was obliged to do this, however ; and she made the best of 
it. His partiality was apparent to all the household. His 
attentions were very marked. His stay, at this time, was 
not as on . former occasions short. He lingered. Day 
succeeded day, and yet he went not. Kate w r ondered he 
stopped so long ; and so did all, but her brother and sis- 
ter. It seemed plain to them that Kate intended to avoid 
giving him an opportunity of being alone with her. Kate 
did not know that he wished for a private interview, but 
was certain that she did not. 

Things were at this crisis, when another visitor came. 
Mrs. Upton arrived, in company with a lady with whom 
Mr. Felton’s family had been for some years intimate. 
Her name was Sanborn. Julia ran to meet Kate, in high 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


89 


glee. The latter was just then returning from a visit to 
Ruthy’s cabin. She had been listening patiently, and with 
feelings of sympathy, to a story of wrong and suffering 
from the lips of a poor creature who belonged on a neigh- 
boring plantation, and was on her way to a new home, to 
which she had been promised, by her mistress, for liberal 
wages. 

“ I’se sorry to go thar. I’d be dat glad ter die on the 
way. I knows what a bad man I’se got ter live wis.” 

“ Does your mistress know him to be bad ? ” asked Kate. 

“ Lor yes, missus ! but she can’t help herself ; she’s 
done ’bleeged ter let me go, ’cause she needs money, and 
can’t git it any odder way.” 

(< Poor creature ! ” thought Kate. “ All I can give her 
is my sympathy and my prayers ; but these she shall 
have.” 

Believing, with the poet, that — 

“ Earth has no sorrows heaven cannot heal,” 

she entreated her to go to Jesus her Saviour, and cast all 
her cares upon him. 

“ ’Pears like he’s a good ways off,” said she, “ and 
can’t hear us poor niggers when we does pray.” 

No, no,” answered Kate. “ He does hear, and ever 
will ; and, if the blessings we ask seem to be denied, he 
will answer us, if we wait patiently. Remember God’s 
chosen people were oppressed more years than you have 
been ; and yet he delivered them in due time. He’ll not 
forget one poor soul that looks to him for help.” 

“ I’se glad I seed yer,” said the poor woman. “ It’s 
sorter done me good.” 


90 


KATE FELTON ; 


This was said as she left the cabin to go on her way. 

“ I shall pray for you,” said Kate. 

“ Thank ye, missus. I shan’t forgit dat.” 

Kate was reflecting upon the sad condition of things in 
this world when Julia met her. 

“ Who do you think we have for a guest now ? ” asked 
she, laughing. 

“ I don’t know, indeed,” said Kate ; “ unless it’s my 
dear friend, Mary Winthrop.” 

“ No dear friend at all,” responded the other. “ It is 
her highness, Mrs. Upton, and another lady, whom aunt 
introduced as Mrs. Sanborn.” 

(< We must do our part towards making them comfort- 
able,” said Kate. “We may enjoy their visit very 
much.” 

“ We may,” repeated Julia; “but I wish it had been 
your friend Mary, instead.” 

“Hush, Julia!” said Kate, as they drew near the 
house. “ Perhaps it will not be best for Mary to come.” 

“ W ell, I’ll be hushed in all but laughing. I must do 
that.” 

“ Perhaps you need not,” remarked her friend, as they 
went into the parlor. 

Mrs. Upton manifested great pleasure at meeting Kate. 
The latter could hardly tell why. Their feelings were 
not at all congenial. Yet so it was : Mrs. Upton regarded 
the high position of her new friend. She had heard, too, 
that she would probably become, ere long, the bride of 
Mr. Marshly ; and she was aware that he was a gentleman 
of fortune and influence, that he sometimes represented 
his State in Congress ; and she never wearied of adding to 


031, A PEEP AT RE A TAT I ES. 


91 


the number of her friends from among the highest circles 
in society. She should be proud to say that she was on 
visiting terms with the Feltons, — some of the first people 
in the country. 

On the evening of the day on which Mrs. Upton be- 
came the guest of Mr. Felton, that gentleman, with his 
wife, mother, and that lady, were sitting together, en- 
gaged, or trying to be, in indifferent conversation, when 
Mr. Marshly came into the room, and inquired for the 
young ladies. Mrs. Felton, senior, informed him that 
they were particularly engaged at the moment, but would, 
she thought, be with them soon. 

“ Kate, I suppose,” the gentleman answered, “ has in- 
terested Julia to engage with her in some scheme for do- 
ing good. I have never seen a person exactly as she . is.” 

“ You don’t respect her less for doing what she can to 
make the world better and happier, do you ? ” inquired 
Kate’s mother. 

“No, indeed, I do not. I only wish more were like 
her. When I first came here,” he continued, “I thought 
it was a fault-finding spirit with the South that prompted 
her efforts with those poor whites and the slaves ; but now 
I am convinced it is no such thing as that, but a spirit of 
love and universal good-will to all mankind. I heard, 
yesterday, of some scenes in which she was principal act- 
ress, that quite charmed me.” 

“ Do you allude to the story of little Dora ? ” asked 
Mrs. Felton. 

“ I do ; and I would ask if that child was as promising 
as the girl appears to be which she has now under her 
charge.” 


92 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ She was a younger child, and very different from 
Susan,” answered Mrs. Felton ; “ had she lived she might 
have developed other traits. She was a sweet little crea- 
ture, and we loved her very much.” 

The young ladies now came in attired for a walk. Mr. 
Marshly arose, and requested permission to accompany 
them, also Mrs. Sanborn. Mrs. Upton was invited, but 
preferred remaining with the friends who staid at home. 
Mr. Marshly walked beside Kate ; and Julia, suspecting 
his wishes in regard to her friend, contrived to leave the 
couple most of the time by themselves, and engage Mrs. 
Sanborn’s attention with objects that came in their way. 
Kate was sorry for this, yet concluded it best to bear the 
trial she had striven to avoid cheerfully. The hour was 
well chosen for a short excursion, — the air was grateful, 
and nature was in some respects prodigal of her favors on 
that evening ; and, while the little party are pursuing 
their ramble, we shall leave them, and acquaint our readers 
with the history of little Dora. 

It was upon a cheerless day in the month of December, 
about three years previous to the time above alluded to, 
that Kate Felton and Mary Winthrop went out upon 
some urgent errand. They shivered with the cold as they 
hurried along the streets through which their path lay. 
When returning home, and just before they came in sight 
of the house in which Mary lived, they met a little girl 
who was crying bitterly. Kate stopped as she drew near 
the child, and kindly inquired the cause of her sorrow. 

“ I can’t find the man I was sent to see, and I’m cold,” 
said she, “ and hungry.” 

“ Come along, Kate,” said Mary ; “I am almost frozen 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


93 


myself, — there is no need of hindering yourself with 
her.” 

“ Though we are cold, we are not hungry, Mary ; but 
you can hurry home if you choose. I am inclined to see 
this little one home. Where do you live, dear ? ” said she, 
addressing the child. 

“ Up in San Street : it is not far off, ma’arm.” 

“ How came you hungry, — is your mother dead ? ” 

“ No, ma’am ; but she is sick, and can’t work now.” 

“ Have you a father ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I haven’t seen him this great while.” 

“ Have you any brothers or sisters ? ” 

“ Only one little baby brother that can’t walk.” 

This conversation took place wdiile Kate was walking 
along swiftly with the child in the direction of the abode 
of poverty to which the poor thing belonged. Mary 
Winthrop followed her friend ; for, cold as she was, she 
felt she could not leave her to go to such a disagreeable 
place alone. They found the mother, as the child had 
said, very ill and very destitute. 

“ Did you find Mr. Gifton, Dora ? ” asked she as soon 
as the child entered, before she saw the young ladies ; for 
she was lying upon a miserable bed with her back towards 

them. 

“ No, ma’am,” said the child. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” responded the mother ; “ we shall starve 

then. ” 

“ No, indeed ! ” said Kate. “ You shall not want ; we 
have come in with your little girl to see what we can do 
for you,” — at the same time taking Dora’s hand and ap- 
proaching the bedside to which the woman’s face was 
turned. 


94 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ Heaven bless ye, then ! ” ejaculated the poor creature, 
bursting into tears. 

“ What a place ! ” whispered Mary. 

“ Have you any one to assist you to do your work ? ” 
asked Kate. 

“ Nobody but my little gal, there,” was the reply. 

It was evident that want and suffering reigned tri- 
umphant in that home, if such it ought to be termed. The 
fire, in an apology for a stove in which it had been made, 
was nearly extinguished. Kate, with the help of little 
Dora, soon revived it, however ; and then, after procuring 
the assistance of a neighbor, who was as poor as Dora’s 
mother, but not sick, she sent out and obtained some little 
comforts for the invalid, of which the poor soul partook 
with a smile upon her face which, as her neighbor, Mrs. 
Donly, said, “ had not been seen there in many a long 
day.” Kate secured the services of the latter for Dora’s 
mother, whose name she learned was Smith. Poor Mrs. 
Smith attempted to express her gratitude ; but her feelings 
overpowered her powers of articulation, — she could only 
sob. 

“ The poor, dear child has suffered a great deal,” said 
Mrs. Donly. “ Your ladyships know nothing at all about 
such living as we poor folks has when we’re well ; but to 
be sick like her, and be alone with two such childers, its 
hard indade to get on.” 

“ I know it must be,” replied Kate. “ I must leave 
you now, but I will see that this family is provided for. 
Take the best of care of Mrs. Smith and these children, 
and you shall be well paid for it.” 

“ That I will ; and may the Lord bless ye for your 
kindness ! ” replied Mrs. Donly. 


OR, A TEEP AT REALITIES. 


95 


“ I will be here again to-morrow/’ remarked Kate, as 
she took leave of the good woman. 

The delay occasioned by this adventure made the young 
ladies’ absence long enough to cause Mrs. Felton some 
surprise ; but all was soon explained after their return, 
and she commended Kate for her interest in these children 
of misfortune. Mary told Mrs. Felton that she was glad 
she had been amid this poverty ; u for,” said she, “ I had 
not even imagined there were such cases of wretchedness 
so near us, and if I had had my own way this child 
would have been passed by unheeded. I was almost im- 
patient at Kate for stopping in this cold, drizzly, disagree- 
able weather to inquire into her troubles.” 

“ Never, my dear Mary, allow yourself to be indifferent 
to the troubles of childhood ; their tears are not artificial.” 

“ I believe I have to-day learned a lesson I shall not 
soon forget.” 

“We must visit this place again to-morrow,” said Kate 
to her mother. “ From the appearance of the woman, I 
fear she has not long to live ; there is a hectic flush upon 
her sunken cheeks, and her cough sounds hollow and 
sepulchral. She will only be made comfortable during 
the night by what we have given her. She must have 
more efficient aid immediately.” 

“ I am glad,” replied Mrs. Felton, “ that you met this 
child, and thus gave us an object to labor for ; it will do 
us all good.” 

“ Do you include me in your remarks ? ” asked Mary 

“ I do. It will increase your happiness to employ your 
fingers in making some needful articles of clothing for 
the little ones. Come, let us all commence at once.” 


96 


KATE FELTON ; 


This plan was most cheerfully carried into effect. In a 
very short time a large basket, filled with cloth, flannel, 
and half- worn garments was placed beside the sofa where 
Mrs. Felton was sitting. Suitable articles were selected, 
and made ready to be sent to Mrs. Smith the next day ; 
and some small garments were cut out and nearly finished, 
ere the hour for retiring to rest arrived. Early on the 
following morning, Kate, accompanied by a servant carry- 
ing a basket, took her way to the dwelling of the sufferer. 
She found Mrs. Donly busy in making the apartment 
more comfortable, by closing sundry little avenues through 
which the wind had long found admittance. She had 
scoured the floor, brushed the old ricketty stove, washed 
the table and chairs, and by so doing had given the room 
an appearance of more comfort than it wore the day pre- 
vious. Mrs. Smith was very feeble that morning ; her 
cough had been increased by the change of atmosphere in 
her apartment when the fire was low, and her voice was 
very weak. 

When Kate approached her, and, kindly taking her 
hand, inquired how she felt, the woman, with a languid 
smile, answered, — 

“ Poorly ; but it is so good to have anybody care for 
me, so good to have my room cleaned up too.” 

“ I am glad your friend here has made you so tidy,” 
said Kate, taking some clean clothes from the basket, that 
had been brought and set near the bed. 

“ How kind ! ” exclaimed both women in a breath. 

“ I was j ust after wishing we had some clean things to 
change her bed, and here they be ! ” 

“ Clean clothes are very necessary in sickness,” said 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


97 


Kate, as she took one article after another from the 
basket. 

“ Bless me ! what a lot on um there is ! ” cried Mrs. 
Donly : “ you ought to get well now, Mrs. Smith,” she 
continued, “and I believe this will make you.” 

“ It will make her more comfortable, I hope,” said 
Kate ; “ but she is very ill. Does she have a physician 
now ? ” 

“ No,” said Mrs. Donly. “ She did a spell back along ; 
but she did not mind what he told her much, and so he 
stopped coming.” 

“ Why didn’t you mind him, Mrs. Smith ? ” asked Kate. 

“ Oh ! I was obleeged to work, you see, and he didn’t 
want me to.” 

“ You must see him again this morning ; you mustn’t 
try his patience in that way again.” 

“ I didn’t then, on purpose,” replied the poor creature. 

“ I understand,” said her visitor. 

Kate was afraid of fatiguing her too much, but felt she 
must speak to her upon that subject which makes all 
others appear insignificant in comparison. She must ask 
her about her hopes for eternity. She knew that the 
poor soul must soon enter upon its untried realities, and 
she begged her to look to our dear Redeemer alone for 
help and pardon. 

The woman said that her priest would administer ex- 
treme unction if she grew worse ; that he had been to see 
her. 

“ You want a Saviour, my friend, that will go with you 
to the bar of your Maker. Look to Jesus alone for for- 
giveness. Trust simply upon his word ; he has promised 
5 


98 


KATE FELTON ; 


to save all who forsake their sins, and go to him, believing 
he is able and willing to save.” 

. “ Is he better than the priest ? ” 

“ Yes, he is a mighty Saviour. Will you not look to 
him in prayer? Will you not ask him to forgive and 
bless you ? ” 

“ I will try to,” answered the invalid. 

Kate said no more at that time. The physician, who 
had been summoned, came in, and after examining the 
case, and prescribing such medicines as he thought would 
add to her comfort, left, — followed by the young lady who 
had sent for him, and who asked his opinion of the case 
as soon as they were out of danger of being heard by 
either Mrs. Smith or her neighbor. The doctor thought 
the woman past recovery. 

“ She has been too long neglected,” said he. 

“ I did not know of her until yesterday,” replied Kate. 

“ Had you, or any other friend, she might have lived. 
There are many lives shortened by want of consideration. 
This woman was obliged either to beg or work, when her 
health was sinking every day. She chose the latter. I 
tell you. Miss Felton, a man in my profession, that 
reflects much, can’t help seeing that the golden rule is too 
much forgotten in this world. Self is loved better than 
our neighbor, the world over.” 

“ Some do obey that rule in part, doctor ? Don’t you 
believe so ? ” 

“ Yes, a few ; I think you are one of the number. 
But if it were only universally regarded, as it ought to 
be, this world would become a happy one.” 

Kate returned home, pondering the truths uttered by 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


99 


the doctor. She visited Mrs. Smith almost daily, and 
perceived that her strength failed constantly. Her heart 
was cheered by the hope that this poor dying creature had 
chosen Christ for her portion, that there had been joy in 
heaven over another returning prodigal. Mary some- 
times accompanied her friend in these visits, and acknow- 
ledged their salutary influence. 

One morning these friends went very early to Mrs. 
Smith’s, to carry some little nicety, to tempt if possible 
her failing appetite, for breakfast. It was an intensely 
cold morning, but they tripped along with sunny coun- 
tenances and cheerful hearts. They had hardly closed the 
door, after entering the house, ere they learned the fact 
that the sufferer was dying. Mary Winthrop shuddered, 
and hesitated to advance towards the bed ; but Kate im- 
pelled her on, and both together they stood by the bed- 
side of the departing soul. 

“ I wanted you to be here,” said the gasping woman at 
intervals. “ I wanted to thank ypu once more for all you 
have done. I know you will see to the children when I 
am dead. My baby is sick now : maybe he will come 
after me, to that world you have told me about.” 

e< He will follow you some time ; but God knows best 
when he shall go. We will take care of him, and Dora 
too.” 

“ God is good,” said the dying woman, “ and Jesus is my 
Saviour. You told me the way to him, and I bless him for 
it.” 

“ The praise belongs to him,” responded Kate. 

The features of the departing one grew brighter, for a 
moment. She faintly smiled, and raised her eyes to 


100 


KATE FELTON ; 


Heaven ; then closed them peacefully, and ceased to 
breathe. 

Mary had looked upon this scene wonderingly. She 
had never before witnessed any thing like it. 

“ This is death ! ” said she. 

ft It is,” replied her friend ; “ but not death as it is un- 
illumined by the light of the gospel.” 

Kate, with the assistance of others, whose aid she 
sought, provided every thing necessary for a decent fune- 
ral, which was attended by Mrs. Felton’s own minister ; 
the priest not being consulted upon the subject. After 
the mother was borne to her last resting-place, the baby 
died ; and Kate Felton took Dora to her mother’s house. 
This was a great change to the little girl. She appeared 
much like a frightened bird. She knew Kate, and loved 
her; but the furniture and all the surroundings were so 
novel to her, that it was amusing to watch her observance 
of the many, to her, wonderful things. 

Dora had been born in a hovel, and had never seen a 
pleasant home. She had run in the streets at will, and 
been accustomed to associate with the idle and the vicious. 
Her indistinct recollections of her father were blended 
with fear. Child as she was, she knew that he was a bad 
man. Her mother’s influence had been scarcely less de- 
moralizing, during the period of her infancy. Some good 
impressions had been made on her mind by hearing Kate 
and a good clergyman converse, during her mother’s ill- 
ness. Possessing an inquiring mind, she had listened to 
all that had been said in her mother’s house, and had ga- 
thered from what she had heard the truths, that God 
always saw her, that there were better people than those 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


101 


among whom she had lived, and that heaven was a place 
where the wicked are not permitted to enter. 

Kate dressed Dora very prettily ; and she scarcely 
looked like the same child who had been found by her, 
sobbing in the street, a few weeks previous. Dora was 
surprised, when she looked into one of the large mirrors 
in Mrs. Felton’s parlor, on the day following that on 
which Kate took her home, and saw herself. 

“ Miss Kate,” said she, “ oh do come and see this pretty 
little girl ! She’s come to see ye.” 

Kate could not forbear laughing at the simplicity of the 
child. 

“ Dora,” said she, “ that little girl you see in the glass 
is yourself.” 

“ Why ! ” said the little thing, “ do I look as pretty as 
she does ? ” 

“ Yes,” said her kind friend, “ that is only your reflec- 
tion in the mirror.” 

“ I am glad I’m clean and pretty, like the little girls I 
see in the street. Shall I be dirty and ragged again? ” 

“ I hope not,” replied Kate ; “ but you must be a good 
girl, and mind what I say to you.” 

“ You must not play in the streets any more,” said 
Kate to her one day, as she expressed a desire to run out 
a little while. “ You may play in the yard.” 

It was with some difficulty the poor child was re- 
strained, for a time. Kate found it no easy task to oblige 
her to conform to a few gentle rules by which she in- 
tended to govern her. Sometimes she almost gave up in 
despair. There was much to be taught her ; and, on the 
other hand, so much to be untaught that she had learned 


102 


KATE FELTON ; 


that was wrong. But prayerful perseverance was re- 
warded, by slow degrees ; and, ere she had been one year 
at Mrs. Felton’s, she had acquired habits of good beha- 
viour, such as many children who are cradled in the arms 
of pious, loving mothers, might be benefitted by imitat- 
ing. 

When she first saw the carpets on Mrs. Felton’s floors, 
she called them “ great painted things.” A sofa was a 
“ great long chair ; ” the crickets, “ little tables ; ” and 
the statuary, a white children, without clothes : ” but now 
she understood what every thing was called about the 
house. She had attended school, besides being taught by 
Kate, at home, to sew, knit, and do many little matters 
that interested her, and made her useful to the friends she 
loi ed so well. On the sabbath, she usually attended 
church with her friends ; and Kate’s heart was gladdened 
by the fact that she soon became, not a hearer only, but a 
doer, of the precepts of God’s word. 

In little more than a year after Dora had been adopted 
into the home of her benefactress, she seemed gradually 
to lose the elasticity of her spirits. She grew languid, 
and frequently was found reclining upon her couch, when 
Kate had thought she was at play. 

“Dora, dear, what ails you?” asked this friend, one 
day, when she had found her lying listlessly upon her lit- 
tle bed. te Are you sick ? ” 

“ No, ma’am ; I am only tired. It makes me tired to 
play or do any thing,” continued she, rising. 

“ You may lie still, my dear,” said Kate, “ and I will 
have something done to make you feel better, if possi- 
ble.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


103 


“ Will you stay with me a little while, if I lie here ? ” 
asked the child. 

“ Yes, dear, if you wish me to.” 

“ I do. I wish to ask about people’s dying, and if little 
girls like me don’t die sometimes.” 

s ‘ We must all die, Dora; but none of us can know 
when. Little children die too. Have you forgotten your 
little brother ? ” 

“ No, ma’am. But do little girls like me die ? ” 

“ They do, often. But why do you ask ? ” 

“ Because I have been thinking of that beautiful land 
where there is nothing but what is pleasant and good ; 
where, too, that dear Saviour is, who has always loved me 
so much as to come down to this world, and be born poor, 
and suffer, and work hard, and then die, that such a wicked 
little girl as I am may live for ever and ever and ever.” 

“ Do you think you love that Saviour, Dora ? ” asked 
Kate, tenderly. 

“ I do,” said the child, “ because I love to think about 
him. I love to think how happy I shall be to see him, to 
be near him, and never, oh never ! to go out of heaven 
any more.” 

“ Don’t you love to live with me> Dora ? ” 

“ O yes, ma’am, very much. I expect you will live in 
heaven with me, and your mother too. Would you be 
sorry,” she continued, “ to have me go there first ? ” 

“ No, Dora ; but I hope you will stay with us a great 
while yet. Your Ma Felton loves you as well as I ; and 
we both feel as if we should feel sad to have you taken 
from us.” 

“ If I go to that happy world where Jesus is, shall you 


104 


KATE FELTON ; 


feel badly ? I don’t want you to. I hope you will let 
me go.” 

“ When God calls, we will try to give you up cheer- 
fully ; but I trust you will be spared many years to us.” 

“ But I shall go there some time. Don’t you believe I 
shall see all there who love Jesus, and love to do right 
now ? ” 

“ Yes, Dora, some time ; but go to sleep now, and then 
you will rest, and not feel so tired.” 

Dora closed her eyes, and, smiling languidly, replied, — 

“ I will try to, and I hope I shall dream about heaven.” 

Mrs. Felton consulted a physician respecting the child, 
who prescribed such remedies as he thought might prove 
efficacious in her case. He recommended riding, and 
other gentle exercises in the open air. It being spring- 
time, Dora delighted to ride into the open country, and 
listen to the songs of the birds as they carolled their notes 
of praise to their and her Creator. The opening buds 
and each blade of grass in her eyes had charms, because, 
as she told Kate one day, when they were riding to- 
gether, her great and good Father, who lives in heaven, 
made them all. 

With regret Dora’s friends saw daily that her strength 
grew less ; and they were obliged to feel, that, to quote the 
sentiment of a poet, — 

“ An angel’s arm couldn’t snatch her from the grave.” 

Her rides were necessarily made shorter, and she lay 
upon her couch most of the day. The task of supplying 
her wants was pleasant. Kate chose it, though Mary 
Winthrop often begged the favor of being assistant nurse. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


105 


Dora was affectionate to all who came near her : she said 
they were all her dear heavenly Father’s children, and she 
loved them all because he did. She often spoke with 
gratitude of the cold drizzly day on which she first saw 
Kate, but always remarked that it was God who had made 
her so very, very kind to her. Her grateful affection for 
the friend by whom she had been adopted was ever 
evident. 

“ I wish to give Ma Felton and you something to re- 
member me by, when I am gone, but I haven’t any thing 
but what you have given me.” 

“ You shall give us a lock of your hair, Dora, — that 
will be a dear little keepsake.” 

“ Will it ? ” asked the child, with glistening eyes. 

“ It will indeed ! ” 

“ Then please take the scissors that are on the table 
there,” said she, pointing to them as she spoke, “ and cut 
off two curls, one for you, and another for Ma Felton.” 

Kate arose, and, taking the scissors in her hand, ap- 
proached the bed. Just at that moment Mary Winthrop 
entered. Seeing what her friend was about to do, she 
begged the gift of a curl herself. 

“ I will put it in my locket,” said she, as it was handed 
her by little Dora, who smiled sweetly, then kissed her, 
and said, — 

“ You will not forget to meet me in heaven, will you ? 
Think of me whenever you see this hair, and remember I 
wished you to see me again.” 

Mary promised to remember what the child had said. 
She did so, and it resulted in a blessing to her and others. 

A day or two after this conversation, Kate and Mary 
5 * 


106 


KATE FELTON ; 


were sitting in Dora’s room. The child had lain in a 
pleasant doze for some time, and her friends had been 
perfectly quiet, so that they might not disturb her repose. 
Suddenly she opened her eyes, and, seeing her most loved 
friend, said to her, — 

“ I am glad to have you here now ; but where is Ma 
Felton and Mary ? I want them.” 

The last-mentioned approached her ; and Kate went im- 
mediately to her mother’s room in search of her, but she 
was not in the house. She returned to the child, who 
seemed disappointed at not seeing Mrs. Felton. Mary 
perceiving this, and having noticed that a change was 
passing over Dora’s features, offered to go to the house of 
a sick friend whom Mrs. Felton had gone to look in upon 
while her little charge was sleeping. 

“ Mary,” said Dora, “ I want to kiss you and say good- 
by before you go, for I may not be here when you come 
back. Jesus is going to take me. Let him be your 
Saviour too ! ” 

Mary kissed the sweet child in return, and hastened 
from the room to hide her emotion. 

“ Kate,” said the dear little creature, who was now 
evidently struggling with death, “it is pleasant to go 
home to our Father in heaven! Our Father!” she re- 
peated, “ not mine alone : he is Father to all who know 
him ! I wish all the people in the world would come to 
him, and learn how kind, how good, and how great he is !• 
Oh, it is easy to love him ! Don’t forget to tell my poor 
father, if you ever see him, that his own little girl wants 
him to be a Christian, to love Jesus Christ, and go to 
heaven, where he will ever be. I have prayed for him. 
Tell him so.” 


OR, A TEEP AT REALITIES. 


107 


She had made a great effort to say this ; and now she 
sank quietly upon her pillow, her eyes were closed, and 
Kate for a minute thought she had ceased to breathe. 
She however revived, and, clasping her friend’s hand, 
fondly imprinted a long expressive kiss upon her cheek ; 
then said, in a broken whisper, — 

“ Kiss me ! My goodby ! Jesus is ready to take 
me ! I love to go ! ” and immediately fell asleep on 
the bosom of that Saviour she had loved so well on earth. 

This was the story Mr. Marshly had listened to, as it 
was told him by a disinterested acquaintance of Kate Fel- 
ton’s. It corresponded with what he had seen of her 
himself, and he felt satisfied, that, if he succeeded in his 
attempts to win her regard, and make her his, he should 
have a wife whose price would be “ far above rubies,” as 
the wise man has termed a virtuous woman. 

We left Kate and her friends taking a pleasant stroll, 
from which they returned by moonlight. During their 
walk, Mr. Marshly had found opportunity to ask Kate an 
important question, which was frankly answered in the 
negative. This answer, however, did not satisfy the gen- 
tleman ; and, ere he entered the house on their return, he 
extorted a promise from Kate that she would grant him a 
private interview. She kept her promise. 

On the following day she met him in the parlor, as he 
had requested her, and spent more than one hour in try- 
ing to convince him that she was really in earnest in 
saying no to him. 

“ Do, Miss Felton, re-consider the subject ! ” said her 
persevering suitor, after she had refused to become his 
bride a dozen times. 


108 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ I have, Mr. Marshly, again and again ; and, while I 
feel bound to thank you for the honor you have done me 
in choosing me from among the many better fitted for the 
station you ask me to fill than myself, I must beg you to 
say no more upon the subject to me, if you wish to pre- 
serve my friendship.” 

“ Then, if you propose such cruel conditions, I must 
submit, for the present at least.” 

“ Not cruel, but kind, my friend. We are not fitted 
for each other’s society well enough to be united in mar- 
riage. Neither of us would be happy ; our tastes are not 
congenial, our habits of thought are very dissimilar, and, 
believe me, you will ere long be convinced of this your- 
self. I wish to retain your friendship, and no mortal 
shall ever learn the fact that you have offered me your 
hand, except from yourself.” 

Mr. Marshly was obliged to content himself with the 
thought that Kate might alter her mind, and, telling her 
he hoped that would be the case ere long, took his leave. 
Kate breathed more freely when he was gone. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


109 


CHAPTER VIII. 


“ For a letter timely writ is a rivet to the chain of affection.” — Tupper. 


Mr. Marshly did not speak of his disappointment to 
any one. He felt it too keenly. Yet he respected Kate, 
even more than before her refusal of his hand. He was 
vexed at himself for having been so sure of his ground ; 
and he immediately returned home, where a pressure of 
business awaited him, which was deemed a sufficient ex- 
cuse for his sudden departure from Groveton. Julia 
wanted Kate to tell her whether he had made her a formal 
offer of his hand, yet could not bring herself to ask her 
friend the question she of all others desired to have 
answered. Even Mrs. Eel ton was silent upon the subject, 
rightly supposing Kate would tell her all that was neces- 
sary to be made known in regard to the affair. Kate’s 
brother and sister puzzled their brain not a little with 
conjectures about it ; but no one ventured to accuse Kate 
of want of confidence, because she was silent on the mat- 
ter of the conversation between Mr. Marshly and herself 
during their walk on that, to Kate, never-to-be-forgotten 
evening. Mrs. Upton wished there might be a wedding. 
She would be delighted to have it to say, when she re- 
turned home, that she had made one of the party who 
celebrated the nuptials of the Hon. C. Marshly and lady. 
That was as far as this lady was accustomed to reflect. 
All this time Kate’s thoughts reverted oftener to her 
friend Mary than to any one subject beside. She had 


110 


KATE FELTON ; 


for some weeks been daily expecting to welcome ber 
to Groveton ; yet she came not, neither bad any letters 
been received for some time. Both Mrs. Felton and Kate 
felt anxious to hear from Mary ; therefore, it was with 
great pleasure they saw Jim entering the sitting-room on 
the day after Mr. Marshly departed, bearing a waiter upon 
which he had placed quite a number of letters. Jim 
Crow, as he was nicknamed by almost all the people upon 
the plantation, approached Mrs. Felton first. She imme- 
diately took up a letter the superscription of which she 
knew to be in the handwriting of Mary Winthrop. Its 
post- mark told of its needlessly long journey. Kate re- 
ceived it from her mother, who said, as she gave it 
to her, — 

“ Daughter, I am impatient to know its contents ! ” 

They were soon revealed. Mary had been disappointed 
in her long-cherished wish to visit Groveton by illness. 
She had been quite sick, and must postpone her visit to 
some future season. She would, she said, have written 
sooner, only she had been too feeble, and she hated to 
employ an amanuensis : — 

“ I have felt very anxious to write you, in order to ask why you 
withheld from your unworthy friend Mary the news that has reached 
me through the medium of strangers. If I had engaged myself to any 
gentleman, even were he only one-half as honorable as your Mr. 
Marshly, I should have informed you of the fact with the least possible 
delay. I have thought that it might be possible, however, that you in- 
tended to surprise me, upon my arrival at Groveton, with a great nup- 
tial parade. Kate, I will not be selfish. I have been schooling my 
heart ever since 1 heard that you were to settle in life so far from me, 
if, mayhap, by so doing I can make it willing to have this so. I will, I 
must, I do sincerely congratulate you upon your brilliant prospects, 
though it is hard to make my heart quiet ; it will throb with pain when 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


Ill 


I reflect that you are to reside in Rosefield no more. Answer soon. 
Tell me if it be true that Mr. Harshly has offered himself to you, — I 
know you will, — and relieve the anxiety of your devoted friend, 

“ Mary.” 

When Kate read aloud this part of Mary’s letter to her 
mother, both mother and daughter were amused. They 
could not imagine how such a report had been circulated. 
Mrs. Felton remembered seeing Mr. Marshly’s attentions 
to Kate had been noticed, particularly by some of the 
company at Mr. Easyside’s, who, she was aware, remarked 
upon it ; and she concluded it must be this that had given 
rise to the story that had reached Mary Winthrop. 

“ I will write to Mary immediately. The dear girl 
must by this time be looking for an answer to hers, which 
has been so long on its way.” 

So saying, Kate went to her own room, where she 
found Susan engaged with some simple embroidery- 
work that the girl had chosen to do privately, in order to 
surprise Kate with her progress. 

" Now,” said Susan, going towards her friend, “ I am 
found out. I meant to have finished this strip before you 
knew it.” 

Kate smiled. 

“ Who commenced that work for you, Susan ? ” 

“ Emma did, and gave me the cloth and nun’s cotton 
too.” 

"Well, go on with your work. I’ll not tell Mrs. Fel- 
ton nor any one else, if you don’t want me to,” said Kate. 
“ I shall not disturb you. I am going to be busy writing.” 

“ Will my staying here disturb you, Miss Kate ? ” 

"No, dear, — not at all.” 


112 


KATE FELTON ,* 


Kate at once sat down, opened her writing-desk, and 
began the following letter to her friend : — 

“ Groveton, April 27, 18 — . 

“ Dear Mary, — Your very acceptable letter has just reached me. 
It incited me both to weep and be merry. I grieve at your illness, and 
the disappointment it has occasioned me, as well as yourself and others. 
I have desired your coming greatly, fondly, — I fear too much. It 
would have been so pleasant to have seen you here, and had your com- 
pany on our return-journey, which, if all things are equal, we shall 
take in about a fortnight. I long to see you. I have a great deal to 
communicate to. your partial ear. I cannot write the half you must 
know ; but I will tell you that I am still disengaged. I know not upon 
what the rumor you heard is founded, but I do know that I am under 
no obligations of a matrimonial nature to any gentleman whatever. 
Perhaps I shall never be married. I never saw but one person whom 
I thought 1 could'reverence as a husband ought to be by a wife. This 
one, I think, merited the highest possible respect. But I must stop 
thinking aloud, or you will laugh at my folly in being interested in a 
person who perhaps has never had a thought of me since we providen- 
tially met while travelling. You, Mary, believe in the attraction of 
congenial spirits to each other, else I would not have said this much. 
You ask me if I have had an offer of marriage. By this you astonish 
me. You surely, when in your right mind, cannot believe that I would 
reveal the secret entrusted me by another, which would have been, had 
Mr. Marshly or any other gentleman offered me his hand in wedlock. 
Were I to receive a dozen offers of the kind, no mortal should know it 
by my means. It would degrade me in my own opinion to be guilty 
of such a meanness. If a gentleman offers a lady his heart and hand, 
he honors her in so doing above all other women of his acquaintance 
he entrusts her with the secret of his feelings. And how, I ask, should 
she treat his confidence, if she cannot return his affection ? 

“ ‘ Not lightly,’ I think I hear you say. Certainly not. Neither 
should she ever make the affair a subject of conversation, not even with 
her nearest friends. I pity those who make light of love-matters, espe- 
cially of those persons who are in this regard disappointed. It betokens 
to my mind a want of noble, generous feeling. Love is a reality, — a 
sacred one too. I mean not here passion, — its foe, as one writer 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


113 


has it ; but affection, — such as Heaven has bestowed upon us, among 
its choicest blessings, to gild the gloominess of earth. It is not degrad- 
ing to cherish affection. I would not live without loving or being 
loved ; and I have yet to learn why contumely must, by conventional 
usage, assail the individual who betrays this best of feelings, if it fails 
of meeting a response from the person towards whom it is cherished. 
Shame on such heartlessness ! I say ; while I rejoice that there are mul- 
titudes of hearts enshrined under the folds of conventionalities that 
hang but loosely about them. I must pause. I am making my letter 
too long. 

“ Mother’s kind remembrance, and my love, is yours, dear Mary. In 
about three weeks, at the longest, I promise myself the pleasure of 
presenting to you my protege , Susan. You are already familiar with 
her name, and the circumstances under which she came to be my 
charge. Please remember my love to all inquirers. And believe me, 
without change, your loving “ Kate.” 

This letter was sent to the post-office as soon as it was 
written, that it might be to Mary the harbinger of the 
coming of its writer. The little time preceding the de- 
parture of Mrs. Felton and Kate seemed even shorter than 
it was in reality, — there was so much to be done ; so many 
little things to remember for the comfort of others ; so 
many little mementoes to prepare for the people belonging 
to the plantation, to whom Kate had endeared herself by 
kindness. All regretted the departure of the ladies, but 
none expressed so much real sorrow as Ruthy and her 
daughter. 

“ ’Pears like I’se never git over it arter ye’s done gone. 
Missus is dat kind ; but she dun no how ter be like ye, no 
how.” 

“ I’ll feel dat lonesome,” said Lucy, “ when ye’s done 
cornin’ in ter de cabin ter talk an’ read ter me. Ye’s been 
dat kind, and I shall allers love yer, I know I shall.” 


114 


KATE FELTON; 


“ Pray for me when I am away,” said Kate ; “ it will 
do us both good.” 

“ It ain’t fit for de likes of me, any how, ter pray for de 
likes of ye. I love ter have yer pra’rs for mesef and poor 
ole mudder.” 

“ You shall have them, Lucy ; and if, as you hope, 
you love our blessed Saviour, you are fit to pray for 
me or any one else. I should feel blessed by your 
prayers, and hope I shall always have them.” 

“ Yer shall,” sobbed Ruthy ; “ but ye’ll never cum here 
agin.” 

Kate assured her, that, if no unforeseen circumstances 
should prevent, she should spend the next winter with 
them. This cheered the poor old affectionate creature, 
whose attachment to Kate had been gaining in strength 
since the hour that Frank first introduced the latter to the 
kitchen. 

Mrs. Upton left the plantation about ten days before 
the others. Julia was to leave in a day or two after they 
were gone. She was most affectionately invited by Mrs. 
F elton and Kate to visit them, during the warm season, at 
Rosefield ; while Susan was kindly invited, by all the 
family, to come with her friends when they next came. 
This was very pleasing to Kate ; for she had learned the 
fact that her ‘protege was possessed of keen susceptibili- 
ties, and that she longed for affection and kindness above 
all things else. Mrs. Wilkins was sorry to have her new 
friend go away ; but it was evident she felt proud of hav- 
ing her daughter accompany her. 

Mr. Felton would not consent that his relatives should 
go without his protection, as far as New York at least. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


115 


This was a comfort to his mother. Her goodby to him 
could be postponed some little time, and she felt it a sad 
task to say the word to the rest ; but it must be said, — 
they would not be satisfied with less. 

The carriage that conveyed these friends to the stage- 
road was followed some little distance by rather a motley 
crowd, all of which were eager to catch a last look or smile 
from one who had been such a light in their pathway as 
had the friend now leaving them. Emma, Rosa, and 
Frank were cheered by an assurance from their father, 
that they should go with him, on the return of cold 
weather, to accompany their grandmother and aunt to 
Groveton, — an event they looked forward to with de- 
light. 

It was with emotion that could not be concealed, that 
Kate made her adieus. Hers was one of those tender, 
loving hearts one is compelled to wish more common in 
the world. Jim, at parting, had given her a bouquet of 
beautiful flowers, that had been cultivated by himself and 
Jake ; and they were elegant, if not arranged with pecu- 
liar taste. Kate valued the gift highly. She saw in it a 
feeling she loved ; and she sighed to think that the fetters 
of slavery were fastened upon the givers. Mentally she 
asked our Father in heaven to give to each of his crea- 
tures the blessings of freedom. 

“ Kate,” asked her brother, ff who arranged that bouquet 
for you ? ” 

“ Jim and Jake,” she replied. “ Without any knowledge 
of the language of flowers, they have chosen well. Na- 
ture’s teaching has been perfect. Here are roses, gerani- 
ums, heliotropes, telling of love and devotion ; while these 


ll r, 


KATE FELTON ; 


modest lillies of the valley speak of the diffidence with 
which they were presented. There is considerable of 
worth covered np by that old glossy cap of Jim’s. ITe 
has good parts. I wish he could be in a situation to make 
the most of himself.” 

“ I wish he was, too, Kate. To be honest, I don’t like 
to be a holder of slaves. But,” he continued, “ I wish 
you to tell me, mother and sister both, if you don’t think 
better of the system than before you came here.” 

“For myself,” said his mother, “I must say, that to 
me it is the same hideous monster. Make the chains of 
gold, if you please : it may make them a trifle less heavy ; 
but they will clank, and secure those who wear them from 
the enjoyment of freedom.” 

“ But most of them are contented, and would not leave 
their owners if they might,” replied Mr. Felton. “Here 
is Simon, my coachman, he seems really proud of his 
situation.” 

“ He might be free, and still be your coachman,” said 
Kate, who had, until then, only smiled her approval of 
her mother’s remarks. What my heart desires for all, 
colored or white people, is the privilege of free agency. 
No man has a right to usurp the responsibility of the acts 
of his fellows.” 

“ W ell,” said her brother, “ I trust the time will come 
when your wishes in this respect will be gratified, and our 
country be more than nominally free.” 

“ Heaven grant it may ! ” responded Mrs. Felton ; “ for 
I am ashamed of her now. I love my country, and feel 
her disgrace as attached to myself.” 

“I am aware that we are very ridiculous,” said Mr. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


117 


Felton. “It is useless to deny this. In our case, it is 
too true that s the fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the 
children’s teeth are set on edge.’” 

“ We must not rest satisfied,” remarked Kate, “until 
we get our teeth in a more agreeable condition. We are 
inexcusable if we do not ; because we are free agents.” 

Her brother assented ; and many incidents, brought to 
mind by objects that were seen during even their short 
ride to the stage-house, strengthened her belief in the 
wrongs of oppression. A slave-driver was visible, with 
his abominable whip, at one time, — the first such whip 
our northern friends had ever seen. At a short distance 
from this man, they beheld the agonized parting of a 
mother and child. The latter was to be driven away by 
the wielder of the whip, and separated from a fond parent 
for ever. 

“Gracious Heaven,” exclaimed Mrs. Felton, “forbid 
that this state of things be continued ! Let not my fellow- 
mortals thus degrade themselves, and set at naught the 
precepts of their Redeemer ! ” 

It was some time ere Mrs. Felton and Kate recovered 
from the shock their feelings had sustained at this sight, 
so as to converse again. It has been remarked, that the 
contemplation of a distant object has a more powerful 
effect upon the mind than its presence. It is not thus 
with such things as our friends beheld that morning. At 
a distance, they are revolting ; near, they are not only 
that, but heart-rending, heart-sickening. 

The ride in the old stage-coach was a very pleasant 
one, there was so much on every side to delight the 
eye. The thoughts of our party were mostly engaged with 


118 


KATE FELTON ; 


the lovely scenery they passed. This made them almost 
indifferent to their immediate surroundings. It mattered 
but little to them whether their fellow -passengers were 
persons with tastes congenial to their own, or whether 
they were drowsily enduring the ride as comfortably as 
they could under the jolting circumstances. Kate noticed 
a comparatively large number of drooping eyelids among 
the company. The thought had intruded itself, ere she 
commenced this journey, that the owner of the threadbare 
coat might possibly cross her path again ; but she looked 
in vain for him there. Few words were spoken during 
the last part of this ride, for all were occupied too en- 
tirely by gazing at the vernal prospect that surrounded 
them. The steamboat travelling was more pleasant at this 
time than when they took their journey in the autumn. 

Susan, who had never seen a steamer before, enjoyed 
the trip more than any of the party ; in fact, she enjoyed 
and admired so much that she saw, and so intensely too, 
that her friends were afraid the excitement might injure 
her health. As they proceeded on, and exchanged the 
steamboat and coaches for the cars, Susan wondered what 
next would present itself that was wonderful. 

“ What other way shall we go ? ” asked she of Kate. 

“ We shall only take the steamboat once more,” said 
Kate, “ before we end our journey ; but travel in cars, 
alternated with short rides in coaches, all the rest of the 
way.” 

“ Do they call this riding ? I should think it flying, 
some of the time.” 

“ Don’t you like it, Susan ? ” asked Mr. Felton. 

“ I should, if I did not care to see the country ; but I 
do, and wish the trees would not whirl along so.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


119 


“It is ourselves that do the whirling, Susan. We 
leave the trees just where we find them.” 

Susan seemed amused, and made herself as comfortable 
as she could ; but it was evident that she did not admire 
the lightning-speed of the railway. Without stopping 
long at New York or Albany, the travellers reached Rose- 
field in safety in about ten days after they left Groveton. 
Mr. Felton accompanied his mother and sister all the way ; 
for, although he had business to attend to in New York 
that was urgent, he could not forego the pleasure of spend- 
ing one night in the home of his childhood. To be once 
more under the roof that sheltered his boyhood, and see 
about him the old familiar surroundings ; to hear his name 
pronounced by the voice of an aged domestic, whose kind, 
pleasant face was among those items first recorded on 
memory’s pages, — was joy indeed to him. The whole 
party was welcomed most heartily by the housekeeper, 
and by Mary Winthrop, who had for several successive 
days awaited her friends’ arrival at the depot. It was 
joy indeed to good old Maggie to see her dear, dear, very 
dear Mrs. Felton and Kate, as she expressed herself; and 
she bustled about, in her quiet way of bustling, to have 
supper immediately after they arrived. 

“ I’ve made some nice muffins,” said the good soul ; 
“for I thought, perhaps, Mr. John would come with you, 
and I haven’t forgotten how he used to love them.” 

“ You are very thoughtful of me, and kind too, 
Maggie,” replied the gentleman. 

“ I have never forgotten you, Mr. John, nor forgot to 
pray for you either, that you might not be a cruel slave- 
holder ; for I have been afraid you would.” 


wo 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ You don’t like slavery then, Maggie, better than you 
used to, — do you ? ” said Mr. Felton. 

“ Like it better! No, indeed! The more I read my 
Bible, the plainer I see it is a great sin, — killing both 
master and slave ! I think any one that loves the word 
of God must hate the sin of slavery.” 

“ I think so too,” replied the gentleman. “ Still, I am 
so situated, I don’t know what to do.” 

“ Do right ! ” responded the homely, Christian woman, 
with energy : “ that is the safest course to take.” 

“ I am resolved to find out what right is in this case,” 
remarked Mr. Felton. 

Susan was introduced as a young girl in whom Mrs. 
Felton and her daughter felt much interested, and they 
brought her home, that she might be educated properly. 
No detailed account was ever given of her previous 
degradation. Her parents were left at the South, doing 
even better than Kate had ever dared to hope. She had 
no need now to feel ashamed of them ; she could speak to 
her dearest friend with freedom and pleasure. The down- 
cast look that Susan had formerly worn had disappeared 
almost entirely. Her heart was light, for she was happy ; 
and her countenance was one of that tell-tale class of 
countenances that betrayed every feeling. Her friends 
enjoyed seeing her, as she made discoveries of such things 
as were curiosities to her untaught eye. Out of doors, all 
she saw was novel. The trees were laden with blossoms, 
but they did not look exactly like those upon which she 
had been accustomed to gaze ; they were fragrant and 
beautiful, but it was another kind of beauty than that she 
had looked for. Good old Jacob, the gardener, was at 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


121 


work on the flower-beds. Several kinds of early flowers 
were exhibiting their grace and loveliness, and, contrasted 
with the pretty squares of green grass near the house, 
that were neatly kept and surrounded with box, gave to 
the front-door yard an appearance of vernal beauty that 
quite charmed the southern young lady. As it began to 
grow dark, the air became somewhat cool ; and the little 
party gathered in the parlor, where a little warm air was 
admitted from the furnace. Mrs. Felton drew near the 
register to warm her feet. Susan looked on amazed.. 

“ Where does that hole lead to ? ” asked she. 

“ Down cellar, to the furnace,” replied Kate. “ A pipe 
conducts the heat into the room from thence.” 

“ Does that warm the room enough in cold weather ? ” 
asked Susan. 

“ It does. I will show you how it is done, some day. 
I am glad to have you notice particularly whatever comes 
under your observation. By so doing, you will acquire 
much knowledge that will be useful.” 

Mr. Felton did not remain long in one place. He 
roamed over the house. Not a room, not a cupboard, but 
he explored. Every piece of crockery or pewter ware 
that had been familiar to his vision in childhood was 
handled, and carefully examined, to see if any marks of 
decay were visible upon them. And with pleasure he 
remarked their state of preservation ; for those old articles 
were dear to him, very dear, from association. The stable 
and other out-buildings were visited ; and the sight of 
various things, relics of former days, caused him both to 
smile and sigh. No one part of the dear old homestead 
was neglected. He had looked upon every thing, and 
6 


U2 


KATE FELTON ; 


uttered all his adieus, ere eight o’clock the next morning 
arrived ; and, having promised to come again as early as 
possible in the fall, was being carried with locomotive 
speed over the road that led to his home. Their return 
home was a season of enjoyment to Mrs. Felton, even 
more than to her daughter. Her health permitted her to 
go abroad more than she had been able to do the preceding 
year. This constituted much of her happiness. 

Susan often went out with her, when out of school, and 
soon became acquainted with places and things around the 
spot that she now delighted to call home. She had ob- 
tained the consent of her friends, and had added to her 
name that of Felton. This was to her the dearest, sweet- 
est name she had ever heard. “ Susan Wilkins Felton ” was 
written upon a blank leaf in all her books, and marked 
upon her clothing. Unwearied pains had been taken, by 
Kate, to impress upon the mind of Susan a sense of obli- 
gation to her heavenly Father, for having taken her, in his 
kind, unerring providence, from the state of degradation 
in which she had been born. 

“ Never for one moment, my dear girl, allow a feeling 
of exultation to be cherished in your breast,” said Kate, 
“ over those who are still in the miserable condition from 
which you have been saved. Humility, not pride, be- 
comes both you and me. We possess no one blessing 
that God has not given us, and we have nothing but what 
we have received from him. He it is that hath made us 
differ from others ; and we should evince our gratitude to 
him by employing the gifts he has bestowed upon us to 
do good to our fellow-beings. We should not look down 
upon any of our Father’s family.” 


OK, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


12S 


It was pleasant to see the improvement Susan made, it 
was so rapid. As has been remarked, she was possessed 
of uncommon powers of imitation. These were serviceable 
in saving her from many awkward blunders, that another, 
reared to the age she had been amid coarseness, and even 
worse than that, would have committed. Love seemed to 
impart vigor to her intellectual powers. She acquired 
knowledge with ease. Her talent for drawing was culti- 
vated, not as a task, but for recreation. She was fond of 
music ; but Kate did not allow her to spend much time in 
acquiring a knowledge of the science, until she had pro- 
gressed considerably in her other studies. Mary Win- 
throp became interested in her friend’s protege, and was 
quite a valuable assistant in teaching her those one thou- 
sand and more little things a young girl needs to be 
taught. 

Mary’s curiosity was never gratified in regard to Kate’s 
receiving an offer from Mr. Marshly ; and she was 
obliged to be content with knowing that she was the un- 
changed companion who had been the sunshine of her 
orphan life. She thanked Kate for her letter, and the 
hints it contained. 

“ That letter I shall never part with,” she said, at one 
time, to Mrs. Felton, to whom she had been reading it. 
“ It has made me love our dear Kate more than ever.” 


124 


KATE FELTON ; 


CHAPTER IX. 

“ Small bliss is theirs whom fate’s too heavy hand 
Confines through life to some small speck of land.” 

The warm season glided pleasantly away to our friends 
at Rosefield. Towards its close, Julia Abbott made them 
a short visit. She then proceeded farther north, with her 
father. Some things she saw in New England delighted 
her, while some disgusted ; and, as she took little care 
to prevent her feelings from being known, it was plain to 
see her annoyance at table, if a wayward fly presumed to 
light upon any article of food of which she cared to par- 
take. She thought the people intolerably indifferent to 
these winged troubles, and wondered her friends did not 
station a servant on each side of the table, armed with a 
long feather, to intimidate them at their approach. Susan 
seemed a prodigy in her eyes. She never could have 
believed that the interesting girl, moving so gracefully 
about Mrs. Eelton’s house, was a poor white squatter’s 
daughter. When she expressed this opinion to Kate, that 
friend replied, — 

“ I doubt not, Julia, but there are more intellectual dia- 
monds at the South, that only need to be dug out and 
polished. You may find one, Julia, if you search but 
just, a little.” 

Julia thought herself excused from such disagreeable 
duties as looking after poor girls. They were not to her 
taste in any wise, but she liked to see the pleasant results 
of others’ efforts. Like too many, she wished this world 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


125 


was more moral than it is ; but she shrunk from adding 
her mite of labor towards its improvement, forgetful of the 
fact that each individual, however low in condition, helps 
make this state of existence what it is. 

November arrived in that year ere Mr. Felton and his 
family were able to reach Rosefield. They had been de- 
tained by different causes, — trifling, all of them. In 
consequence of their late arrival, their stay was limited to 
a very few days ; but these were happy days, especially 
to the young people. 

Mary Winthrop was cordially invited to make one of 
the party on their return South, an invitation she gladly 
accepted. Mrs. Felton’s health was more firm, now than 
on the preceding year. This was a matter of thank- 
fulness, as it would make her journeyings more pleasant. 
In short, a happier party never were found than the one 
which left Mrs. Felton’s, in Rosefield, upon the second 
week in November, to seek a home at the sunny South. 
No event of much interest occurred during this journey ; 
neither was the winter marked by any thing of import- 
ance. Pleasant days and tranquil nights rapidly suc- 
ceeded each other. Something was enjoyed in the way 
of giving and making parties, but not much time was 
spent thus. Riding was a favorite amusement with all 
the younger members of the family. Horseback-riding 
had the preference with most of them. Susan learned to 
ride as easily as she learned almost every thing she 
attempted, and her companionship was prized by all on 
the plantation. Even Jake and Jim had learned to 
respect her, for she was ladylike and kind towards them. 
Jim confessed he was not ashamed to raise his cap when 
he met her. 


126 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ There aa’nt a hansummer one ’bout than she’s got to 
be,” said Jake. “ Jist look at her curls, they’s butiful. 
Sartin Miss Emma’s ain’t so perty ’s hern be.” 

Jim fully concurred in this opinion. Susan gladdened 
Kate’s heart by the tenderness of conscience she mani- 
fested, and her gentle deportment. It seemed strangely 
sweet in one like her. 

One day, during the month of March of that year, her 
father came to the house and requested an interview with 
Kate. This being granted, he informed her, that, during 
the whole of the past winter, himself and wife had been 
making preparations to remove to the West. 

“We are ’bout ready,” said he, “and I hope you’ll 
think well of our going.” 

“ I do,” said Kate. “ You must have done with the 
whiskey-jug, or you would not have got along so well. I 
thought you would keep that pledge if you once made it.” 

“ Your kindness has been the making on us. Miss 
Felton. I don’t touch no kind of liquor, nor I don’t 
want ter.” 

“ I am very glad, Mr. Wilkins ; but when do you in- 
tend starting for the West ? ” 

“ By the last of next week ; that’ll bring it to about 
the middle, or little past, of the month. It’ll be high 
time to be on the spot, if a body’s going to farm it, by 
the time we get there.” 

“ You are correct in that, my friend ; and I hope you 
will have a prosperous journey, and be successful ever 
after you reach the place to which you are bound. But 
what place do you intend to settle at ? ” 

“ I can’t tell, ye see, ’till I gits there.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


127 


“ Well, wherever it is, you will do better if you seek 
the blessing of God upon your labors. Remember, it will 
profit little to gain the world and forget him.” 

“ I think of that a good deal, Miss Felton. I want to 
get right.” 

“ It is easy, if you only will.” 

“ I hope I shan’t forget,” responded he. “ I s’pose I 
might as well say good-by to Sukey, seein’s I’m going off 
so far ; and I’ll be too busy next week, I reckon, till I 
git away.” 

A servant was sent to call Susan, who came imme- 
diately. Her father was evidently taken by surprise with 
her personal appearance. She was much taller than when 
he last saw her, — she was handsomer too ; and her man- 
ners were so much improved, that the rough father 
seemed awestruck when he first looked at her. 

“ How she’s altered ! ” said he. “ I never’d thought 
she belonged to me once.” 

“ She belongs to you now, Mr. Wilkins,” replied Kate. 
“ I shall not prevent her going away with you, if she 
chooses ; still, I should greatly prefer her remaining with 
me. Do you wish to go, or would you rather stay, 
Susan ? ” Kate asked, as the girl stood regarding her father 
with an earnest expression of countenance, which seemed 
to speak volumes of interest in her parent’s welfare. 

“ I would like best to stay,” answered she, “if I may ; 
that is, if you are all satisfied with that.” 

“ I am,” said her father. “ I came to bid you good- 
by, ’cause I’m afeard I shan’t have time next week, if we 
start Tuesday, as I ’spect we shall ; ” and he hesitated. 
“ Miss Felton knows ’bout it, and I may as well say it 


188 


KATE FELTON ,* 


afore her. I’s sorry I ’greed to sell ye to that slave- 
driver, and want you to forgive me, Susan.” 

The daughter burst into tears. 

“ Don’t speak of it, father ! ” sobbed she. “ I don’t re- 
member it, and I don’t wish you to.” 

This was true. Her heart was too full of Christian 
love to think unkindly of any wrong that had ever been 
done her. She loved the reform commenced in her once 
wretched father, and her feelings were overcome by the 
acknowledgment he made. 

On Monday of the ensuing week, her mother, brother, 
and sister-took their leave of Susan. They expressed the 
opinion that she was not fit now to work on a farm ; and 
such was the fact. She was more at home amid the re- 
finement of the family into which she had been adopted, 
with her tastes, than she could possibly have been, sub- 
jected to the rough-and-tumble of emigrant life at the 
West. 

The departure of this poor family was a source of satis- 
faction to the generous heart of her who had labored so 
much for their good. They carried with them Bibles, 
and other good books, which the wife and mother had 
learned to read, and which Kate had given them ; and 
their removal promised fair to make them useful and happy, 
at least compared with their previous state. 

.Julia visited Groveton ere the Feltons returned North. 
Mr. Marshly, too, favored them with a short visit, — if it 
was indeed a favor to each of them ; but this was doubt- 
ful, as far as one was concerned. He convinced Kate that 
“ hope deferred ” had not made his “ heart sick,” by re- 
newing his request of the previous year. She decidedly 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


no 


said no ; and reminded him of the fact that a gentleman 
never would be over-importunate after having been once 
refused. Her deportment during his stay, while it in- 
creased his admiration of her character, extinguished the 
hope that she would ever be his. 

May came, as on the past year, all too soon for those 
who were to leave the Feltons. For themselves, how- 
ever, they were gratified at the prospect of soon being in 
their own dear home. The winter had been spent in 
enjoyment of different kinds ; and still, even to Mary 
Winthrop, they were glad when they found themselves 
again upon their homeward journey. They found good 
old Maggie expecting them anxiously, with every thing 
arranged for their comfort. 

“ I do say now, Miss Felton, if you only knowed how 
long the winter is when you’re gone, you wouldn’t stay 
so long away from me.” 

Miss Felton comforted the faithful creature by assuring 
her that she expected to shorten her stay, if she should 
leave home another year. , 

“ That’ll be better,” said Maggie ; “ I s’pose you’ll 
only be away when the weather is coldest, then.” 

“ That will be all,” answered the lady. 

“ I’m glad of that,” was Maggie’s reply, as she pro- 
ceeded to acquaint the ladies with much that had occurred 
during their absence. 

“ You are missed, I can tell you, when you are away. 
The folks talk about you a great deal, and say they want 
you to come back.” 

“ I should be sorry if we were such nonentities as not 
to be missed,” said Mrs. Felton. 

6 * 


1J0 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ Or,” said Kate, archly, “ so naughty, that our absence 
should be hailed by our acquaintance as a relief.” 

Maggie laughingly said there was no danger of any 
such thing as that. 

Kate and Mary had scarcely made what visits they in- 
tended, and arranged other little matters to be attended to 
after an absence of months, ere they received a pressing 
invitation to spend a few weeks with a friend in New 
York city. Kate hesitated at first to accept the invitation, 
feeling reluctant to leave her mother. Mrs. Felton, how- 
ever, urged her to go ; and she went, after arranging 
every thing necessary for her mother’s and Susan’s comfort 
during her absence. Susan attended school, but, when 
at home, was companionable, and really a solace to her 
kind benefactress. She made herself useful in various 
ways, and never was more happy than when assisting 
Mrs. Felton in doing some things which Kate had formerly 
been accustomed to do for her mother. 

“ You are a good daughter,” said Mary to her friend, 
after they were on their way to New York. “ I do be- 
lieve you won’t take half the comfort that you would if 
your mother was going with us.” 

“ I don’t believe I shall take quite as much,” answered 
Kate ; “ for I am so accustomed to caring for her feeble 
health, I cannot get rid of the anxiety. Her health is 
better, it is true, than it has been for years ; still, I don’t 
love to be separated from her, and dread no one affliction 
that can come to me like her removal from earth.” 

“ She is a good mother,” responded Mary ; “ I wish I 
had one like her.” 

The friends reached the end of their journey without 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


131 


experiencing any tiling out of the usual course. Still, 
they felt they had much to be grateful for, in this age of 
accidents, for having escaped with perfect soundness of 
body and limbs, and from dangers unseen both on land 
and water. The reception they met was highly gratifying. 
Their friends, Mr. and Mrs. Fielding, were young per- 
sons who lived in an independent style, and gathered 
around them every comfort and luxury that nature and art 
had provided. Their home was located on Fifth Avenue. 
Their house was one of the most spacious and superbly 
furnished mansions in the city, and, upon each reception- 
day, well-nigh crowded with genteel guests. Kate and 
Mary were in a very few days introduced to most of the 
elite of New York. 

“ I suspect,” said Mr. Fielding one morning at break- 
fast, addressing Kate, “ that you and your friend have left 
your hearts at Rosefield.” 

“ Why,” asked both young ladies in a breath, “ do you 
think so ? ” 

“ Oh ! because neither of you seem particularly in- 
terested in any of the gentlemen you meet here.” 

“ I like to converse with most that have been presented 
to me,” replied Kate. 

“ That may be,” answered the gentleman ; “ but you 
don’t seem very desirous of pleasing any one of them.” 

“ True, I do not ; why should I ? ” 

“ Because most young ladies would feel highly com- 
plimented by the attentions of such gentlemen as Mr. 
Strasburg and Mr. Aiken ; while you receive them with as 
little perturbation as if they were not worth more than 
passing thought.” 


132 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ To me they are not. I don’t, of course, speak for 
Mary.” 

“ Her heart is untouched as well as Kate’s,” remarked 
Mrs. Fielding, with a smile. “ Is not this assertion true, 
Mary ? ” 

“ I believe it is,” was the reply. 

“ Have you and Mary pledged yourselves to a life of 
single blessedness, Kate ? ” asked Mr. Fielding. 

“We have not exactly done that; we have only deter- 
mined to wait patiently until the right ones make their 
appearance, as they undoubtedly will, on some auspicious 
day in the bright future.” 

“ That day ought not to be far distant to you, Kate,” 
said Mrs. Fielding. 

“You need not presume too much upon my good- 
nature, my friend,” said Kate, laughing. “ I may get 
angry at being reminded of my near approach to a doubt- 
ful age ; though, to be serious, I do not shrink from the 
thought of a single life. It is not disreputable, and, to 
my mind, vastly preferable to that led by one-half of those 
early married in the world.” 

“ I have just thought, my dear,” said Mr. Fielding to 
his wife, “ of a gentleman that would probably suit Kate, 
and that is Dr. Stonely.” 

“ I agree with you in that opinion,” replied the lady. 
“ I think, too, that she might suit his fastidious taste.” 

“ Who is Dr. Stonely ? ” inquired Mary. 

“ A very popular physician, and a perfect gentleman ; 
besides being a Christian, and possessing every desirable 
qualification in a partner for life,” answered Mr. Fielding 

“ Is he a resident of this city ? ” asked Kate. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


133 


“ He is, and has been during the last two years ; and 
his popularity has increased every day since he established 
himself among us. He is a favorite, too, among those of 
his own profession. I want you to see him, Kate. If he 
ever had a moment’s leisure, you would see him at our 
house.” 

“ Invite him to come, especially before we leave ; can- 
you not, Mr. Fielding ? ” asked Mary. 

“ I can, and I will,” answered the gentleman. “ But 
to get him here will be quite another affair. He might 
even enter the door, and be obliged to turn back and go 
to some case of suffering that would detain him for 
hours.” 

“ That is too bad ! ” exclaimed Mary. “ I’m not going 
to be a physician’s wife, I know.” 

“ Do you say the same, Kate ? ” asked Mrs. Fielding. 

“ I do not. If I might be useful as the wife of a good 
doctor, whose society, what little I should have of it, I 
could like, I could have no possible objection to a husband 
of that profession.” 

“Well, I hope Dr. Stonely will be able to give us a 
call,” said Mary, somewhat archly. “ I suspect he will 
prove to be the very one for whom f Katy darling,’ here, 
has been waiting.” 

Kate laughed good-naturedly at these vivacious remarks, 
and so did the rest of the company. The fortnight that had 
been allotted to the stay of the young ladies in New York 
soon passed. During the time, Dr. Stonely, although he 
more than once made the attempt, failed to visit his friends, 
the Fieldings. In fact, it was of little use for him to even 


134 


KATE FELTON ; 


think of visiting, his time was so constantly occupied with 
professional duties. 

Kate acknowledged to herself that this was a disappoint- 
ment. She had hoped to see the gentleman who, 
in her own mind, was associated with her travelling friend 
of the threadbare coat. She felt there was a simila- 
rity in their character, as she had heard that of Dr. 
Stonely described by her friends. She had been in- 
formed, too, that he was a widower, and a young man. 
But she would not allow herself to indulge in regrets. 
She schooled her heart to quietude. 

“ Why should I,” she asked herself, “ think so often of 
a stranger, when my judgment of him may be hasty and 
incorrect ? I will dismiss his image from my thoughts. 
If it is best that I see him again, He that notices even the 
fall of a sparrow will so order events that this shall be.” 

Kate’s mind was thus freed from all anxiety on this 
point. She felt soothed, in casting all her cares on God ; 
and felt the power of the kind assurance that he cared 
for her. In her own strength, she did not attempt any 
thing ; for she had learned the efficacy of prayer. 

Their visit being ended, Kate and Mary took passage 
in a steamer for Albany, on their return home. Their 
friends, Mr. Fielding and his lady, accompanied them to 
the boat, and remained on deck until the steamer weighed 
anchor. They then stood upon the pier, watching them 
until they receded far from land. Kate and Mary waved 
their handkerchiefs as long as they could be distinguished ; 
and continued standing by the bulwark, and enjoying the 
prospect before them, until weary of gazing. Turning 
suddenly round to seek a seat in the saloon, they met a 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


135 


gentleman, whom Kate at a glance recognized as Mr. 
Harshly, from the South. He had met her friend Mary 
twice at Mr. Felton’s, in Virginia ; and he knew both 
ladies at first sight. He extended his hand, and greeted 
them with great cordiality and politeness. His manner 
towards Kate was too frank and unrestrained to leave 
room for a thought that she was not taken at her word by 
him at last. This, to her, was gratifying ; and she was 
agreeably surprised to find he was to bear them company 
on their trip homeward. He was social, polite, and very 
respectful, towards both ladies ; but in his manner towards 
her friend, Kate was sure she discovered a something that 
told of a feeling allied to preference. She noticed with 
interest the effect of his attentions upon Mary, and was 
satisfied that they were well received. 

They conversed together, and seemed so well pleased, 
too, with each other’s society, that Kate had an opportu- 
nity to look about among the passengers for something to 
interest her. In a few moments, her eyes met those of a 
little girl, richly, though plainly dressed ; and, in her 
strikingly handsome features, she thought she saw the 
expression of the little girl whose father had been such an 
object of interest to her since the time she met the child 
and himself, nearly two years before. She longed to 
know the name of the little stranger, whom she now saw, 
but knew not exactly how to obtain the desired know- 
ledge. The child — for she was still a child, although 
considerably taller than when first seen by Kate — was 
not alone now, but under the protection of a lady, whom, 
upon making inquiry, she learned was known to Mary 
Wintlirpp. 


136 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ Is that child a relative of hers ? ” asked Kate. 

“ I don’t know,” replied Mary. “ But the lady is a 
Mrs. Dinsmore, and a most excellent woman, too. I 
would like to give you an introduction to her. Come, let 
us walk toward them.” 

Kate readily acceded to this proposal. As they ap- 
proached that part of the boat, the little girl said to Mrs. 
Dinsmore, — 

“ That lady coming this way is the one I saw and loved 
so well, some time ago, when I went from Rosefield to 
Albany.” 

Mrs. Dinsmore was thus prepared to give Kate a most 
cordial greeting, when presented to that lady by her 
friend. She then introduced her cousin’s little daughter, 
Carrie Stonely. Carrie immediately asked Kate if she 
was not the same lady she had seen in the cars, nearly 
two years before. 

“ I am,” replied she. “ And I feel very glad to meet 
you again. Are you going to stop at Rosefield ? ” 

“ No, ma’am, at Hilltown, six miles beyond,” answered 
Carrie. u Are you acquainted in that place ? ” 

“Very little,” said Kate. “But I presume you do 
not reside in Hilltown ? ” 

“ I do not. My home is in New York.” 

“ Is Dr. Stonely' your father ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am. Do you remember riding in the cars 
with him ? ” 

“ I do.” 

“ I am glad,” replied Carrie, with a perfect artlessness 
of manner that was delightful ; “ because he has not for- 
gotten you. I have heard him say that your conversation 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


137 


at that time did him good. He was feeling sad and de- 
pressed, he told me the other day, and he said you 
seemed like a sunbeam in his path. He would like to 
see your mother, and you too, I know,” said the child, 
as she paused to take breath. 

During this unsophisticated harangue of Carrie, Kate 
felt her cheeks suffused with crimson. This was un- 
observed by all but Mary, who was as watchful over the 
affairs of her friend’s heart as that friend was over hers. 
This solicitude was mutual. Mary was truly glad that 
the identity of Kate’s travelling-acquaintance and favorite 
was established. She congratulated her friend upon her 
gift of intuitive perception of character. 

“ To think,” said she, “ that you, Kate, should have 
set that gentleman down in your own mind for just such a 
person as he is, at first sight, almost seems strange to me. 
I don’t understand how you read countenances so like a 
book. I shall have to employ you to do some such read- 
ing for me.” 

“ I have already employed my powers without being 
requested,” answered Kate. 

“ What do you make out ? ” asked her friend. 

“ A pretty fair character, — if that is what you mean. 
I have told you as much before.” 

“Let me ask, did you think him good enough for 
yourself ? ” 

“ Certainly I did.” 

“That is all I wish to inquire at present,” said Mary. 

The two friends, who had been left alone a few moments 
while Mr. Marshly was engaged with a gentleman he had 


138 


KATE FELTON ; 


met upon deck, and Mrs. Dinsmore and Carrie were occu- 
pied in conversing with some acquaintances that had just 
espied them, now joined these friends. They engaged in 
pleasant conversation; and the time passed quickly to 
them, — so swiftly that they neared the wharf at Albany, 
ere they were aware of the fact that so much of their 
journey was accomplished. 

Mr. Marshly informed the ladies, on their arrival, that 
he was to stop with a friend who resided in the same 
neighborhood with those friends at whose house Kate and 
Mary were to tarry during the night. The ride from the 
steamer thither was made more pleasant by his kind 
attentions and cheerful presence. The journey on the day 
following was much like car-journey in gs in general. The 
same motley group crowded the seats as on other days. 
Men, women, and children composed this crowd, — some 
large, some small, but far the largest number were of me- 
dium stature ; some good-natured and polite, while others 
seemed to think the whole world was made expressly for 
their accommodation. Among this number were some 
gentlemen, who seated themselves, after having thrown 
away the last relic of a cigar, that could not be allowed in 
this travelling saloon. As the rules of the corporation 
did not exclude perfumery, they solaced themselves by 
bringing enough in their clothes to regale the senses of a 
multitude. 

Such never cared to know whether or not any could be 
annoyed by an air so perfectly aromatic to themselves. 
Our young friends, with Mr. Marshly, Mrs. Dinsmore, 
and Carrie, were so fortunate as to procure seats in each 
other’s vicinity, and forgot the trials of the way in the 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


139 


enjoyment of social converse, and any thing pleasuarble 
that passed before them. 

Kate had a happy faculty of extracting all the sweet 
that could possibly be gleaned from any thing, of what- 
ever kind it might be. She was emphatically one of those 
mortals the poet must have had in mind when he said, — 

“ Out of the self-same cup one nectar drinks ; 

Another, draughts of gall.” 

She accustomed herself to expect imperfection in almost 
every thing relating to mortals ; and, if everybody was 
not exactly suited to her taste, she contrived to endure 
cheerfully the trial of coming in contact with them, when 
it was necessary for her to do this. To her, then, a journey 
was never irksome. The ride from Albany to Rosefield 
need not be excepted. Still, it was with a feeling of 
delight she saw the spires of her native town. 

Kate was sincerely sorry that Carrie was going so far 
beyond, for she really loved the child even upon this 
short acquaintance ; but Hope’s fairy fingers pointed to 
distant days, when they might again meet. 

Mr. Marshly and Mary accompanied her in a carriage 
to her mother’s door. There the tenderest greetings 
awaited her. Mr. Marshly went home with Mary, and 
then took lodgings at a hotel, manifesting little if any dis- 
position to travel farther without company. He had in- 
formed the ladies of his intention of stopping during a 
few days in Kosefield ere Kate left them. 

Kate did not ask him if he had special business at the 
place, for she had gathered as much from certain inuen- 
does that had been inadvertently perhaps given while on 
their way. What his business was she readily guessed. 


140 


KATE FELTON ; 


and was interested to know how he succeeded. She had 
not long fo wait, however. 

The very next day Mary visited her. Kate saw in her 
countenance, when she first made her appearance, that a 
weighty subject occupied her mind. As soon as Mary 
found herself alone with her friend, she told her all that 
she had expected to hear. 

“ I did not think, until last evening,” said the confiding 
girl, “ that Mr. Marshly was going to ask me a question 
that is so difficult for me to answer.” 

“ What makes it so difficult ? ” asked Kate. 

“ Why, you seem to know what question it is,” said 
Mary. 

“ It’s not strange that I should suspect what it is, par- 
ticularly after observing Mr. Marshly’s attentions to your 
ladyship.” 

“ Perhaps not. But what shall I do ? He is a slave- 
holder.” 

“What duty prompts, and inclination also, if it goes 
hand in hand with duty, — not otherwise.” 

“ In this case inclination and duty lead one way,” 
answered Mary. 

“ I could not be happy as the holder of slaves, — I am 
sure of that. I cannot consent to a union that would 
place me in such a situation ; and yet I do like Mr. 
Marshly better than any other man I have ever been 
acquainted with. I told him all this, Kate. Was I not 
frankhearted ? ” 

“ Yes, dear Mary, and so you are always. But what 
did the gentleman say to this ? ” 

“ Oh ! he said I had been under your influence, he made 


OB, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


141 


sure ,* 4 but,’ said be, c I am not displeased at this. I 
would be glad if 1 w T as differently situated, but I can’t help 
myself at present.’ I then told him that I regretted the 
present state of things in regard to ourselves, but that I 
could not consent to become responsible in the sense in 
which he already was. I was afraid of having too much 
power. He reasoned, or thought he did, upon the subject, 
and seemed hurt with me, because I could not be con- 
vinced that black was white, as I told him.” 

“ But how did you conclude to settle this affair ? ” 

“ It is unsettled. He begged hard that I would recon- 
sider the subject, and then, he said, he trusted I should 
decide in his favor.” 

"Well, Mary, you have done well so far. I suppose 
you have not as yet resolved to accept him, with his slaves, 
have you ? ” 

" Have I ? No, indeed ! And, the more I reflect upon 
the subject, the more I shrink from assuming a responsibi- 
lity such as I am assured our benevolent Father in heaven 
never intended any of his creatures should assume; Still, 
Kate, I repeat, I do like Mr. Marshly in all but his slaves. 
I wish it were so that I could say yes to him ; and to you, 
my kind, indulgent friend, I am not ashamed to make this 
confession.” 

“I hope, Mary,” remarked Kate, "that you may be 
made happy yet with him, and without the accompani- 
ment of slavery.” 

" Do you suppose he could be prevailed upon to give 
them free papers, Kate ? ” 

" It is not too much to hope. You remember, Mary, 
what once opened the prison doors.” 


K ATE FELTON J 


113 


“ I do. Will you unite with me in using the same 
means then employed to free Mr. Marshly’s bondmen ? ” 

“ With all my heart, Mary. I have been taught by 
experience to have faith in prayer. It is my habitual 
refuge in seasons of perplexity.” 

“ It shall be my refuge now,” said Mary. “ ‘ I will lift 
up my eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my 
help.’” 

“Let us agree in asking our Father in heaven,” said 
Kate, “ to influence Mr. Marshly, by his spirit, to abandon 
the evil of slavery. It will not be a useless petition, if it 
merely benefits ourselves alone.” 

To this suggestion Mary’s heart thankfully responded ; 
and her spirit was relieved of its burden by committing 
all her dearest interests to the keeping of that Friend who 
sympathizes with, and lightens the sorrows of, all who love 
him. Mr. M,arshly remained at Rosefield nearly a fort- 
night, waiting for Mary to consent to share his lot in life 
without conditions ; but waited in vain. Her own heart 
was enlisted sometimes on his side, in this struggle of 
wrong with right ; still she did not yield to the tempta- 
tion presented in the guise of affection, but allowed him 
to depart for his home, assured that she could never be 
his while he owned a fellow-being. 

Mr. Marshly was convinced, that, in Mary’s case, love 
was sacrificed to duty. He valued her character more 
highly for adhering to what she believed was right, 
although he could not see eye to eye with her in this re- 
spect. During his homeward journey, his mind dwelt 
almost constantly upon this subject Sometimes, in a mo- 
ment of irritation, while brocding over his disappointment. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


143 


he was tempted to brand Mary as a fanatic. Then his fancy 
would paint her as he last saw her, — lovely, though sad- 
ness shaded her expressive features, while she affection- 
ately and mildly declared to him her unchanging decision. 

“ I cannot blame her,” said he, mentally. “ The pow- 
erful force of education has made her thus. My training 
has been different.” 

Then he pondered long upon the difference in the cir- 
cumstances that had ever surrounded Mary from those by 
which his early impressions had been made. 

“ I wish,” thought he, “ that this slavery bugbear did 
not exist.” 

After his return home, his mind constantly wandered 
back to E-osefield. In imagination, he saw Mary, and 
seemed to hear her say again those words, that he was 
satisfied would not be recalled, though he knew they had 
been uttered with a feeling of pain. He did not for one 
moment doubt her affection. He knew, too, that she was 
not over fastidious ; and he was constrained to believe 
that she was right. He did not wish to admit this fact, 
even to himself. 

“ If I am in the wrong in regard to this slavery ques- 
tion, I am not alone,” said he to himself. “ Yet this does 
not help me, in my present dilemma ; besides, a thing 
may be popular, and still be wrong. Less than half a 
century since, dram-drinking was the order of the day in 
all parts of this country. It was as wrong then as now, 
yet the wrong was unheeded. When a protest was first 
entered against the practice, it was styled fanatical. Now, 
although many continue the habit, a multitude are op- 
posed to it, in practice and principle. This multitude is 


144 


KATE FELTON ; 


composed, too, of many of the best spirits in the land. It 
may be so in regard to slavery. I am not sure that it will 
not. I must think more upon this subject. It will do no 
hurt.” 

Now, for awhile, we leave Mr. Marshly engaged in 
cogitating the matters so interesting to him, and look in 
again upon the family at Rosefield. 




OR, A FEEP AT REALITIES. 


145 


CHAPTER X. 


“ Life’s little stage is a small eminence, 

Inch high the grove above, — that home of man, 

Where dwells the multitude.” Young. 

The remainder of the summer was spent tranquilly, if 
not happily, at Mr. Felton’s. Pleasure and duty were, for 
the most part, synonymous words with the members of 
that household. Kate most sincerely sympathized with 
her friend Mary in the trial through which she was pass- 
ing ; and never was she forgotton, when, drawing near 
her best Friend, she poured into his gracious ear the story 
of her own cares. Mary looked upward, and hope 
illumed her pathway with a chastened light. 

The autumn came and went without bringing any 
thing worthy of particular notice to the little circle that 
claims our interest. Early in December they left, to 
spend a short season, during the most severe part of the 
winter, at the South. 

A gentleman who belonged in Virginia, who was on 
his way thither, had been engaged by Mr. Felton to call 
at his mother’s, and be the companion of their journey. 
Mr. Felton could not leave home, or did not wish to do 
so, because of the feeble health of his youngest daughter. 
He was fearful that her illness might increase during his 
absence. An urgent invitation was again sent to Mary 
Winthrop by the whole family on the plantation, but she 
hesitated in regard to accepting it. 

7 


146 


KATE FELTON : 


Kate, although she greatly desired her society, would 
not urge her, because she understood the feelings by 
which she was governed. 

“ I really wish to go for some reasons,” said Mary to 
Kate, before deciding what to do ; “ and, if I knew that 
my task of heart-discipline would not be harder at Grove- 
ton, I would accompany you.” 

“ Why should it be ? ” asked Kate. “ It would not be 
to me ; but I cannot judge for another, not even my 
dearest friend.” 

“ I am afraid of running into temptation ; yet I fear 
that I should be, in parting from you. I will venture to 
undertake this journey.” 

Kate was gratified with this decision of her friend, and 
so was her mother. Susan was happy in the thought of 
again meeting Emma and Rosa, and, with the bright an- 
ticipations peculiar to youth, looked forward to the hour 
for their meeting. The gentleman, when he came for 
them, proved to be the veritable Mr. Platon with whom 
Julia Abbott had once made herself merry. Kate did not 
at first recognize him : his manners were less foppish than 1 
formerly, and his air so much more serious, that she 
thought he must have learned some wisdom by expe- 
rience. He proved a very efficient escort for our little 
party, and never so much as attempted a flirtation during 
all the time he was attached to it. 

After a peculiarly pleasant trip for the season when 
pleasant weather is the most delightful, the travellers 
once more reached Groveton. Happiness was the pre- 
siding genius at that social board again, as mother, child- 
ren, and grandchildren gathered once more around it. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


147 


“Our circle is still unbroken,” said Mr. Felton; “we 
are all here.” 

“Yes,” replied his mother; “let us, for this blessing, 
be thankful. It cannot always be thus ; there must come 
a change. For this we should be daily preparing.” 

“ I trust you will live to gladden our hearts many 
years yet, my dear mother,” said her son : “ our circle 
may long be unbroken.” 

“ One need not be old to die ! ” remarked Rosa, with a 
serious air and tone. 

“Now do stop talking about death,” said Emma; “it 
is not a fit subject for this joyous day ; and, besides, I 
never like to have it introduced at any time.” 

“ I don’t feel as you do about it, Emma. I like to 
think and talk of death, — it is sometimes sweet, ” an- 
swered Rosa ; “ but I will not speak of it any more now, 
if it annoys you.” 

Kate regarded both nieces with an expression of tender- 
ness. Rosa appeared almost angelic, as she gazed upon 
her, while she was speaking to Emma. Her complexion 
was well-nigh transparent in its whiteness, her eyes 
beamed with a lustre almost too bright for earth, while 
her cheeks glowed with a flush of excited feeling that 
made the expression of her countenance radiant with a 
beauty not its own. 

“ Is it possible,” thought Kate, “ that Rosa is the vic- 
tim of an insidious disease, and her parents know it not ? ” 

She sought an early opportunity to express her thoughts 
upon the subject to her brother. He thought there was 
no cause for alarm in particular ; she had never been very 
strong. Some weeks previous to this he had been appre- 


148 


KATE FELTON ; 


hensive of her coming down with a fever ; but now he 
trusted these symptoms had passed away, and, under the 
care of good old R-uthy, she would soon be as strong and 
lively as ever. In this opinion he was sustained by the 
agreeable effect produced upon Rosa by the arrival of her 
friends. Her grandmother was very dear to her. She 
loved Mary Winthrop and Susan: but her Aunt Kate was 
loved by her with an ardor surpassing her affection for all 
others, except her parents ; and they were not certain that 
even this exception could be made. The society of no 
other had charms for her like that of her aunt. She 
eagerly listened to each word that fell from her lips ; and, 
even when she was silent, she loved to sit or recline upon 
the sofa beside her, with her own slender arm entwined 
around Kate’s neck. Rosa felt that she was understood, 
appreciated, loved, cared-for in every sense, by this de *r 
friend, that was necessary to render her friendship the 
choicest of earthly blessings. Other friends might be and 
were very dear ; but no one could fill her place, and it 
was left void ever during her aunt’s absence. 

The weather was at this time extremely pleasant, just 
cool enough to be invigorating. The young people im- 
proved it by riding horseback. Every feeling of lassitude 
and physical depression was chased to the winds, by these 
genial breezes, from each of the party except Rosa. 
When returning from these excursions, she was often so 
weary as to be obliged to lie upon her couch during n^t 
of the day. 

Sometimes she would excuse herself from going out, 
and spend the time during the absence of her friends in 
the retirement of her own room. Driving was resorted 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


149 


to, for the sake of Rosa’s company, by the young people. 
She enjoyed a drive exceedingly ; but Kate saw that this 
mode of exercise also fatigued her too much. They 
shortened their drives. Mr. Felton thought that con- 
tinued exercise, notwithstanding it wearied her, would, if 
persevered in, bring back the strength she had lost ; but 
he was obliged to believe it was not so, but the contrary. 
Rosa was cheerful ; a smile was ever adorning her features ; 
and good Aunt Ruthy said there wasn’t a happier being 
anywhere than her darling Rosa, — dearer than ever to 
her faithful, loving heart, now that she was ill. 

“ I can tell ye, deary,” said she to Kate, not long after 
her arrival at Groveton, “ there’s a cloud ’pears like hang- 
ing over us. Death is coming here ; I sees him ’proach- 
in’ slow, but he’ll sartin be here ’fore spring. I’s noticed 
Miss Rosa this long time ; she’s growd too good to stop 
here long. She allers was good, but ’pears like she be’s 
a angel now. She thinks more ’bout heaven than she 
does of what’s on this yer ’arth, I make sure. Don’t you 
think so, Missee Kate ? ” 

“ Yes, Ruthy. Rosa has never been unamiable to me ; 
but I see a great change in her. Her temper is sweet 
now at times ; and, it seems to me, she is patiently wait- 
ing in confident expectation for her Saviour’s mandate to 
go forth to meet him.” 

“ He’ll come ’fore long, ’pend on’t,” was Ruthy’s 
(pswer. 

Before the month of January was ended, Rosa became 
too weak to go down stairs. For a time her father carried 
her down to the family sitting-room in his arms ; but this 
at length was more than she could bear, and she begged 


150 


KATE FELTON ; 


to be allowed to remain in her own room. She was never 
left alone, except at short intervals, at her own request. 
Each one of the family deemed it a privilege to be with 
her. Her good old friend was unwilling to give up her 
right of head-nurse, even to Kate ; but she was willing to 
share with others the pleasure of sitting by her dear one’s 
bedside. 

The conviction was now forced upon the mind of her 
father that Rosa was seriously ill. He had called in a 
physician a week before. He now asked the doctor to 
seek the best counsel in the country round, for he would 
spare neither trouble nor expense to benefit his daughter. 
Accordingly, the best physicians to be found were em- 
ployed, and every means used that affection could prompt 
to arrest the progress of disease. Still, its march was on- 
ward, though silent its tread. 

Mr. Felton spent hours with his daughter every day at 
short intervals. Sometimes, when she could bear it, he 
read to her, — often from the Bible, sometimes from the 
writings of her favorite authors. The Bible she pre- 
ferred, she said, on account of its having been dictated in 
a sense by her best Friend. It was his letter to her. A 
portion of it were the very words her Saviour had spoken ; 
“ and, when I get to heaven,” said she, “ I shall remember 
how you read about the very Friend I shall then be with, 
and that will be delightful. Oh ! I love to think of my 
heavenly home ; and I want you and mamma, and all 
my friends, to be with me there.” 

“Rosa, dear,” asked Mr. Felton, u don’t you love to be 
here ? ” 

“I do, father. I dearly love you all, and very dearly 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


151 


too ; but you know, that, while I do this, I can love 
another even better. You believe I love you, dear father, 
don’t you ? ” asked she, regarding him at the moment 
with a look of affection he could never forget. 

“ I do, my dear, dear daughter. I cannot doubt your 
love for me, or any of us.” 

“ It is because I love you all so well that I wish you to 
be with me through all eternity. I am not quite certain 
that all of my friends are sure of going to heaven if they 
should die ; and some are careless about it, I am afraid. 
I love to pray for such.” 

Seeing that her father betrayed emotion he sought in 
vain to conceal, she said to him, — 

“ I do not wish to give you pain, my dear, kind father, 
and I am sorry if I have said any thing to distress you. 
I hope you will forgive me.” 

Her father assured her that it was the thought of part- 
ing with her, and that alone, that was painful. 

“ You have said nothing, my child, to grieve me.” 
He then arose ; and, after kissing her affectionately, left 
the chamber. 

The days came and went, all too swiftly to those who 
dreaded the arrival of the hour in which a dear object was 
to leave them for ei er. The strength of Rosa failed 
gradually ; but her spirit sustained her sinking frame, or 
rather the Spirit of that Saviour on whom she leaned for 
support. Friends looked upon her, and were constrained 
to exclaim, in the fullness of their hearts, “ See what God 
hath wrought ! ” 

Ruthy declared that the religion that her dear young 
Missee had was the kind she liked best to see. She 


152 


KATE FELTON ; 


wasn’t “ agwine to say that them ar gloomy kind er Chris- 
tians had no religion at all,” but she sometimes thought 
it was a kind that did hurt to other folks ; “ it makes um 
sort er feel as though religin was stiff an’ sorry ful like. 
They’s didn’t car ter have it unless they’s ’bleeged to git 
whar they’d be happy. But this ere sort Miss Rosa’s got 
is what’s pleasant to have any whar,” said the unsophis- 
ticated woman. “ I heered Miss Emma say, the other 
day, that she wished she was Rosa.” 

“ All may be like her,” said Kate. “ God’s promises 
are made to every one.” 

Mr. Marshly made the Feltons a visit during the win- 
ter. Towards Mary he was kind and respectful, but 
never once asked her to revoke her decision. He seemed 
unusually thoughtful, and often spent a few moments in 
the room with Rosa. It seemed as though he could never 
weary in gazing upon her sweet countenance. One day, 
as he sat with Mr. Felton by her bedside, conversing 
with them both, Rosa said there was one subject upon 
which she thought a great deal, and she wished to know 
if God created the slaves in their present condition. 

“ No,” replied her father, “ he did not.” 

“ Then how came they to be in subjection to white 
men, as they are here ? ” 

tc This state of things was brought about by incidental 
causes,” remarked Mr. Marshly ; observing that Rosa’s 
father hesitated, as if he cared not to reply directly. 

“ What were those incidental causes ? ” inquired Rosa ; 
“ they must have been very mysterious.” 

“ Why ? ” asked Mr. Marshly. 

“ Because the effect is so dark.” 


OB, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


153 


“ Perhaps you have heard of the African slave-trade ? ” 
said the gentleman, by way of rejoinder. 

“ I have heard the term. What does it mean ? ” 

“ Why, only that colored people were brought to this 
country in vessels, and sold to the people here for 
servants.” 

“ How did those who brought them come to have 
them ? Were they prisoners of war ? ” 

“ No : they brought them from their homes in Africa,” 
answered Mr. Felton. 

“ Without their consent ? ” interrogated Rosa. 

“ Yes,” replied he ; “ I am sorry to be obliged to say 
this is true.” 

“ Oh, how very, very wicked this was ! Don’t you 
think so, father ? and don’t you too, Mr. Marshly ? ” 

“ I do,” quickly responded Mr. Felton. “ And, since 

I have reflected more upon this subject,” said Mr. Marshly, 

“ I am satisfied it is not right.” 

° . • 

Here the conversation was interrupted, and no more 
was said at that time upon the topic under discussion. A 
few more days had passed, during which Rosa’s strength 
diminished rapidly. Her father was again by her bed- 
side, anxiously watching the almost celestial light that 
gleamed through the countenance of this beloved one, 
whose stay on earth seemed short, when, regarding him 
with a smile of affection, she said, — 

“ I am glad you are with me now. I have a request to 
make of you, while I have strength to speak.” 

“ Let me know what you would ask,” said her father, 
in loving accents. “ I don’t think I shall reject your peti- 
tion.” 


7 * 


154 


KATE FELTON ; 


(< I do not belieye you will either, my dear good father ; 
although I shall ask a great deal. I have been thinking,” 
continued she, “ of our conversation the other day, about 
the way in which we got the slaves. It seems to me that 
our people were thieves who brought them from Africa.” 

“ That is a harsh term, Rosa.” 

“ Well, were they honest in doing it ? ” 

“ No, they were not.” 

“ Then they were dishonest ; and that is taking what 
does not belong to one. Is not that stealing ? ” 

“ Perhaps so,” admitted her father. 

“ Isn’t the partaker called as bad as the thief, father, in 
other cases ? ” 

“ Yes, that maxim is generally allowed, the world 
over.” 

“ Then those who bought these stolen men and women 
did very wrong. They were dishonest, too, were they 
not?” . 

“ It seems hard to say this ; and yet, if we analyse their 
acts, it amounts to just this, and nothing better,” said Mr. 
Pelton, thoughtfully. 

“ Now,” asked Rosa, “ how much better is it in us to 
keep on doing as those did who first bought the slaves ? 
If it was dishonest to enslave them at first, it is no better 
to do so now, as I can see. I do so wish the government 
would be at the expense of abolishing slavery ! The na- 
tion would be a happier one, wouldn’t it, father ? ” 

r( T think so, Rosa. But what is your request ? Is it 
that I shall carry such a petition to Congress, if I go next 
year ? ” 

“ I had not thought of that ; though I don’t see why 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


155 


it could do the least hurt. I am only going to ask you to 
give dear old Ruthy and Lucy free papers, so that they 
may not be slaves, and sold, if you should die, or any 
thing else unfortunate take place.” 

“ You have taken me by surprise, Rosa. Perhaps, if 
they had free papers, they would make their way to the 
free states, and then you would lose your good nurse.” 

“ I don’t believe that they would think of doing so, or 
wish to, either ; because she is held here by a bond 
stronger than that of slavery.” 

Mr. Felton knew what this was, but yet asked Rosa 
what other bond held Ruthy. 

“ That of affection. I know she would never leave any 
of our family if she could help it. She loves us all very 
dearly, I know.” 

“ Rosa, did your Aunt Kate suggest this idea to you ? 
Does she wish me to free Ruthy ? ” 

“Father, I do not know. She did not suggest the 
ideas I have in regard to this subject I have brought be- 
fore you. Still, I dare say she would be glad if Ruthy 
and all the rest of the people were free. We have not 
spoken directly to each other about these things during 
this winter. I will tell you,” — and she proceeded with 
much earnestness in her manner, — “ it rs because I am so 
near another world, father, that I see things differently 
from what I used to. Every thing is earnest and real now to 
me. Things I once thought little seem of consequence 
now ; while some I thought most of, once, seem not worth 
a thought. I used to feel as if it was enough for us to 
treat every one kindly. Now, I see we owe more to each 
of our fellow-beings ; because we are all children of one 


156 


KATE FELTON ; 


Father, and for his sake we must try to do good to all over 
whom we may exert any influence. I see every thing so 
clearly now, father, that I wonder I have been so dull all 
my life long. But you will give Ruthy free papers, won’t 
you, father dear ? Promise now ; for I am getting too 
tired to say much more.” 

“ Yes, my dear daughter, I will. I fear I have allowed 
you to talk too much already. So now rest content with 
the assurance I give that Ruthy shall be her own mistress. 
Her daughter, too, shall have free papers.” 

Mr. Felton arose to go down stairs. He went as far as 
the door, and then returned to Rosa’s bedside. He 
stood for a few minutes in a thoughtful attitude, and then 
said, — 

“ Rosa.” 

She opened her eyes, and looked up into his face with a 
languid smile. 

“ Don’t say any thing to influence Ruthy to stay here 
after she is free. Let her do just as she chooses.” 

“ I will promise not to say any thing to her about it. 
I am very sure she will choose to stay^unless you wish her 
to leave.” 

“ She has not been tried, my dear. People’s characters 
cannot be developed without trial. Sometimes we act 
very differently from what we flattered ourselves we 
should do before we were tried.” 

“ I know it is so, father. Still, I have great confidence 
in Ruthy’s piety.” 

“ So have I, Rosa. But you must not say any.more to- 
day. I will now leave you with Ruthy, who will keep 
you quiet.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


157 


As he said this, he cast a significant glance at the nurse, 
who at that moment entered the room. 

“ The poor lamb orter go ter sleep right away. She’s 
tired, poor thing ! ” 

And the good soul approached the bed with gentle 
tread, smoothed the clothes, turned Rosa’s pillow, and 
then, after giving her some refreshments, sat down where 
she could see her, and soothed her into a state of repose 
by humming a sweet, melodious tune that her patient very 
much loved. 

Mr. Felton thought long and deeply upon what Rosa had 
said to him. He felt that she was in the right, and was glad 
he had pledged himself to free her nurse. In his inmost 
soul he wished to do the same by all his people. 

Mr. Marshly tarried in the neighborhood of the planta- 
tion. Spell-bound, as it seemed, he lingered near the only 
one, as he now felt, whose society would make him truly 
happy. He gave Kate full credit, now, for good judg- 
ment in thinking she was not exactly suited to his tastes, 
and that she should fail in making his home what he de- 
sired. He admired her, he respected her ; and he had 
once mistaken for love this admiration and respect. Now 
he was undeceived. His regard for Kate was undimi- 
nished, his respect was unabated. But when he first saw 
Mary Winthrop, and conversed with her, he found that 
he had not before known a feeling similar to that she in- 
spired in his breast. The more he saw her, the more 
grateful did he feel to Kate for so resolutely denying him 
the favor he had asked. 

To be denied by Mary Winthrop was indeed a trial. 
It was true, her rejection of him was only conditional. 


158 


KATE FELTON ; 


He was satisfied that she regarded him with an affection of 
which any man would be proud, and had thought of a 
plan which he hoped* Mary would approve, but waited for 
a fit opportunity to lay it before her. His native refine- 
ment and delicacy forbade him to intrude his own affairs 
now upon one whose sympathies were called forth for 
other friends, who were constantly expecting the arrival 
of death’s angel, that ever unwelcome messenger, to bear 
from their circle the most endeared of its members. He 
had not long to wait, however ; for, in a few days, Rosa’s 
happy spirit passed from her loved home of affection and 
tenderness on earth to a fairer, sweeter, and more peace- 
ful home above. She exchanged the fond caresses of 
doting friends there for the loye, purity, and unalloyed 
bliss of that circle who continually cry, “Worthy the 
Lamb.” 

Just before her departure, she entreated her mother and 
all her friends to part with her with a cheerful spirit. 

“ I do not love to think,” said she, “ that my removal 
will throw a gloom over the household. I want you to 
think of me with pleasure. I shall only be gone to a 
happy mansion, where I shall expect you all to come after 
me. You must come ; for there is nothing to prevent 
you, if you choose.” 

Her remains were deposited in a beautiful casket. Her 
grave-dress was peculiarly neat : it was made of white 
muslin, the neck and sleeves trimmed with a superb edg- 
ing of lace. A handsome bow of wide white satin ribbon 
appeared to confine the neck of the dress, while similar 
bows adorned her alabaster-like arms. Her hair was 
tastefully arranged, and her head was encircled with a 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


159 


wreath of white flowers, intermingled with green leaves. 
Choicest flowers were strewn over her whole figure, as it 
lay uncovered by the lid of the casket ; while her right 
hand held a beautiful bunch of white roses and buds. 
None gazed upon her, as she lay awaiting her removal to 
her last resting-place, but to admire. All who knew her 
during the last year of her life felt that all this outward 
loveliness was made more attractive by being emblematical 
of inward sweetness. Those fading flowers were more 
lovely to the view, because they were suggestive of those 
celestial bowers now the home of the departed, — 

“ Where fairer flowers than Eden’s bloom,” 

and where, too, the lightest shade of sin shall never annoy 
the inhabitants. 

A large circle of sympathizing friends attended the 
funeral of Rosa. Julia Abbott arrived just in time to 
witness her departure from earth, but tarried some little 
time after she was buried. Mr. Platon also came ; but 
the ludicrous affair concerning himself and Julia was 
scarcely thought of, — if at all, not in a manner to give 
pain. He had learned wisdom by experience truly, as 
Julia affirmed, and was no longer in danger of believing 
that every woman who treated him with kind, easy polite- 
ness, was in love with him. 

The whole household seemed to reverence the wish 
expressed by the dear one who had gone, that gloom 
should not enshroud the dwelling on account of her re- 
moval. They thought of her, “ not as lost, but gone 
before,” and were comforted. They confidently expected 
that she had gone to a blissful home, and this seemed to 


160 


KATE FELTON | 


create a link to unite them to that happy world. Few 
tears were shed ; but the different members of the family 
never wearied of talking of her that was gone. 

Good old Ruthy mourned longer and louder than any 
one else ; for, as she said, she must cry, — the tears would 
come, when she thought that she should never do any 
thing more for the “ dear lamb ! ” as she loved to call Rosa. 
She strove to dry her tears, however, and feel composed, 
if not cheerful ; and she soon succeeded, insomuch that 
she could speak of her loved young lady, without a pain- 
ful outburst of sorrow. It was evident, that, to all the 
near friends, the death of Rosa was a sanctified affliction. 
Their sorrow was not only chastened, but they were led 
to regard earth’s blessings as more transitory, and heavenly 
joys as more real and substantial. The language of this 
event to Julia Abbott was not unheeded. She had heard 
the dying words of one younger than herself, to whom 
life promised much that was desirable ; and was assured, 
by what she had listened to, that there was something 
more to be desired than earthly good, — a brighter world, 
that is more true, more desirable, than this. 

Piety had hitherto been a too serious subject to interest 
Julia. She had deemed it staid and sober. It is true, 
she realized a difference between the Felton family and 
some other religious families she had visited ; but, until 
now, she had not felt that the difference was caused by 
the character of their religion. The prayers of Mr. Felton 
at the family altar were, Julia thought, rather more tole- 
rable than the stereotyped petitions and meal grace of her 
father ; because Mr. Felton seemed to think more of what 
he was saying than the others. Now she saw and felt 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


161 


that it was heart-piety, not formal religion, that brought 
peace ; and the former, she now determined, should be 
hers. 








162 


KATE FELTON; 


CHAPTER XT. 


“ Nothing in human nature is so godlike as the disposition to do good to 
our fellow-creatures.” — Richardson. 


In a few days after the occurrence of the events men- 
tioned in the preceding chapter, Mr. Harshly informed 
Mary that he contemplated offering freedom to all his 
slaves, and allowing them, if they chose, to work for him 
still. 

“ Can you do so,” asked she, “ and live at your old 
home in Georgia, as you have done ? ” 

“ No : I think of removing to the West ; and, if my 
people are willing to go, they may, and be free.” 

Mary’s heart beat at this announcement almost audibly ; 
she was quite overcome. The tears, that would not be 
driven back, ran down her cheeks. She was half ashamed 
of herself, yet could not conceal her emotion. Mr. 
Marshly saw it, but did not understand why she should 
be so much affected. He thought her tears were not 
those of sorrow, and he thought rightly. They were 
offered at the shrine of gratitude and joy. Were her 
humble, unworthy prayers, and those of her friend, that 
had gone up unitedly with her own, about to be answered ? 
She had hoped they would be regarded, yet she hardly 
believed an answer like that she received would come so 
soon. 

It was some minutes before she became sufficiently 
composed to converse. During this interval, Mr. Marshly 
looked upon her with mingled feelings. Her pertur- 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


163 


bation plainly said, “ I love you as well as ever, my 
friend.” This assurance gave him pleasure : but he was not 
sure that she approved his scheme of going westward to 
seek a home ; and this doubt was painful. As soon as she 
could trust her voice to speak, Mary told him she hoped 
he would succeed in the plan he proposed, for she 
thought it an excellent one. 

“ But,” asked she, “ if some of your people choose to 
go to Canada, what will you say to that ? ” 

“ I will say, ‘ Go, and God speed you on your journey ! ’ 
There may be, there probably are, some who have relatives 
that have escaped from the slave states. These will natu- 
rally wish to rejoin their friends, and I cannot object to 
their doing so ; but the largest number of my servants, I 
am satisfied, will be proud to follow me to any part of the 
country where they can be freemen.” 

“ Then you will not hold property in human beings 
again, — will you, Mr. Marshly ? ” interrogated Mary, in 
the simplicity of her noble heart. 

“ Heaven forbid, that, having once put my hand to this 
unpopular plough, I should turn back !” 

“ I rejoice,” answered Mary, “ that want of popularity 
does not cause you to shrink from the undertaking you 
propose.” 

“ All my plans will be cheerfully executed, if I may 
but be cheered by your approving smiles, Mary.” 

“ You will certainly have my approbation in pursuing 
the course you have mentioned.” 

“ Will you consent to be my companion, if I immigrate 
to the far West, and if I do not have slaves to toil for 
me?” 


164 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ Yes, gladly,” frankly responded Mary. 

Mr. Marshly thanked her with both look and word. 

Mary’s tears found vent again, when she related this 
conversation to Kate. The eyes of her friend were not 
tearless while she listened. 

* “ Another encouragement to faith in prayer,” responded 
she. “ How strange that we do not oftener go to God to 
make particular requests ! W e ask for general favors, and 
insult the majesty of Heaven by practically saying that God 
does not deign to feel an interest in our particular affairs.” 

“ I shall believe practically now, I hope, that prayer is 
the key that unlocks the treasury of God’s storehouse,” 
replied Mary. 

“ Yes,” said Kate, smiling, “ and a pleasant key to use, 
if we only keep it bright.” 

“ I hope to be enabled to keep this key from growing 
rusty hereafter,” was Mary’s rejoinder. 

That same evening, while at the tea-table, Mr. 
Marshly stated his plans to all there assembled. Among 
the company were Mr. Easyside and Mr. Platon. The 
latter found it very pleasant and convenient to drop in and 
spend a short season with the family at the plantation, 
every now and then. 

On hearing Mr. Marshly express the determination he 
had made, both these gentlemen stared in amazement. 
Mr. Felton, however, looked no surprise, — he felt none. 

f< Is not this scheme of yours something rather precipi- 
tate ? ” asked Mr. Easyside. 

“ Not very, sir,” replied the other. “ I have been re- 
volving this project in my mind for some months ; yet I 
may say that my decision was hastened by hearing words 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


165 


that fell from the lips of one whose seat at this table is 
now vacant.” 

For more than one minute, silence reigned throughout 
the circle. Memory was busy. A lovely being was again 
present. Mr. Felton broke the silence, ere it became 
painful, by cheerfully remarking that he highly approved 
of Mr. Marshly’s plans ; and he hoped he would be pros- 
pered in this new start in life. 

“ If he is satisfied, I ought not to complain,” said Mr. 
Easyside. “ Still,” he continued, “ it would not do for 
every southerner to move off with his people. The South 
would be depopulated at that rate.” 

“ It would not be necessary, in order to have our people 
free, if the Golden Buie was not forgotten by our law- 
makers. It is greatly to be hoped that the present state 
of things will not always exist.” 

“ Are you going over on the side of abolitionists, Mr. 
Felton ? ” asked Mr. Platon. 

“ If you mean to ask if I am turned denouncer, I an- 
swer no. But if you wish to know if I think our system 
of slavery is at variance with the Golden Buie, which all 
are bound to observe, I answer yes. Emphatically, too, 
would I pronounce the word.” 

“ My son has recently been helping forward the work 
of emancipation among his own people,” said the senior 
Mrs. Felton. 

“ Indeed ! ” answered the reverend gentleman. (L Have 
any of your servants left the place ? ” 

“ Not one of them. And, furthermore, there is no dan- 
ger of our being deserted by any of them,” Mr. Felton re- 
plied. “ Our darling Bosa requested me to give free papers 


166 


KATE FELTON j 


to her nurse, and her nurse’s daughter Lucy, whose health 
is very delicate. I did it ; and my dear child had the 
satisfaction, ere she left us, of knowing that she had con- 
ferred a great amount of happiness upon this faithful, 
though humble, friend.” 

“ A friend in a servant ! What an idea ! ” said Mr. 
Platon. 

“ Servants are among the best of friends,” remarked 
Mr. Felton. “ If you reflect more upon the subject, my 
friend, 1 presume you will come to the same conclusion.” 

“ How is Ruthy made happy by her freedom, if she 
still remains in your service ? ” asked Mr. Easyside. 

“ I will answer your question in Ruthy ’s own words. 
When I showed her the free papers, and told her that her- 
self and Lucy were slaves no longer, she was very much 
surprised, — so much so that she did not speak, at first ; 
but, after a moment, she asked if she could not live here, 
and do as she had done. I told her she could do just as 
she pleased in regard to it. ‘ Then,’ said she, ‘ I chooses 
to stay. Oh ! it’ll be mighty comfortable to have that ’ar 
feelin’ gone that I’se had so long. I’ll be as light as a 
feather now. I shan’t be afeared, somehow, dat some- 
thin’ ’ll happen, and we’d have ter be sold agin. But 
now, bress de Lord ! I’se easy ’bout dat ’ar ; an’ the bur- 
den I’se carried so long has fell off.’ When I heard 
these honest expressions of the good old soul, I felt the 
evil of our system as I never did before. Would I could 
make all my people free ! and certainly would, if the laws 
of my state would allow it. I feel the force of truths ut- 
tered by Rosa, upon her deathbed, more forcibly every 
day.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


167 


“I have thought much,” said Mr. Marshly, “ of her 
idea in regard to the dishonesty of our government and 
people in allowing slavery. She was correct in affirming 
that the sin of those who first stole the Africans, and 
brought them from their own homes, is winked at by us 
who have received these stolen fellow-creatures, and ap- 
propriated their services. I, for one, will be free from 
this inherited evil.” 

“ I rejoice to know that this is your decision, Mr. 
Marshly,” said Kate. “ I am beginning to feel proud of 
this act in my friend already.” 

The gentleman smiled, and bowed his thanks. He did 
not prolong his stay at Groveton after this, but hastened 
his return homeward. His feelings w T ere far more envi- 
able now than they were when he was making the journey 
to Groveton ; and, upon his arrival, he greeted his people 
with a countenance so expressive of pleasure that they 
were led to think something very pleasant had befallen him 
during his absence. This they whispered among them- 
selves, and taxed their ingenuity to guess the cause. 
Mr. Marshly’s house was nominally superintended by a 
maiden aunt of forty, whose name was Dresden, though 
she was generally called Aunt Pattie by her nephew, and 
Missus Pattie by the slaves. This lady was sociable, good- 
natured, and kind, spite of the stigma so commonly thrown 
upon all single ladies of her age, of crossness and pre- 
cision. 

She delighted to see everybody and every thing as 
easy and comfortable as circumstances would possibly 
allow them to be ; and, if the truth must be told, it was 
this passion for comfort that had induced her to refuse 


168 KATE FELTON ; 

more than one eligible offer of marriage. Her heart had 
never been, in reality, taken captive by any one ; and, 
having seen much of the darkest side of matrimonial life, 
she had thus far shrunk from risking her happiness by 
embarking upon its sea. She did not undervalue the holy 
institution of marriage, but honored it ; yet believed, 
with Dr. Watts, — 

“ Two kindred souls alone must meet ; 

’Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet, 

And feeds their mutual loves.” 

Nothing could afford this kind aunt more pleasure than 
the news communicated to her by her nephew soon after 
his return to the plantation. She had long wished he 
might bring to his home a good wife ; so now, when in- 
formed that her wish would probably, at some future time, 
be gratified, she was really delighted. But, when in- 
formed that they were to move from their present home, 
and seek another in the back-woods, as she styled the far 
distant West, her countenance lost its bright expression 
for a little while. 

“ Charles, what a foolish notion ! what put it into your 
head, I wonder! ” said the good woman, with a troubled 
air. 

“ Foolish ! Why, my dear Aunt Pattie, I thought you, 
of all others, would be willing to have our people free,” 
was Mr. Marshly’s rejoinder. 

“And so I would, if you but just give them free 
papers, and stay here, — I should like that.” 

“ I cannot do that, auntie : our laws would play the 
mischief with me if I should.” 

“ I don’t know as I ought to speak against the laws of 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


169 


our State or country, but I cannot but think they might 
be better. The Bible bids us reverence those that are in 
authority ; and I suppose it does not become a woman like 
me to meddle with politics, though I wish things were 
differ ent.” 

“ A woman like my Aunt Pattie has a right to do all 
she can to improve the politics of her country, if she de- 
parts not from the sphere in which Providence has placed 
her,” was the gentle reply of her nephew. 

“ Pray tell me what I can do, — I, who don’t believe in 
women going before the public to speak ; for I’m sure I 
don’t know.” 

“ You can express your opinions fearlessly on the side 
of truth, and exert your influence in many quiet, un- 
obtrusive ways, in behalf of right ; and, even if you are 
in too 'feeble a state of health to admit of your mingling 
in society, you can exert an influence by prayer. One 
need not be a senator, in order to labor for their country’s 
good.” 

“ I do believe, Charles, that you are in the right ; but 
you have not always thought upon this subject as you 
now do,” answered Aunt Pattie. 

“ I regret,” replied Mr. Marshly, “ to be obliged to 
confess that I have, until recently, advocated the cause of 
oppression ; for our system of slavery cannot be truthfully 
termed any thing better. I inherited slaves as .my rights 
ful patrimony, without troubling myself to inquire how 
my forefathers came to possess them. I have been led to 
reflect, and reflection has convinced me that man cannot 
sinlessly hold his fellow* creature as property.” 

“ I am right glad you feel so upon this subject, 
8 


170 


KATE FELTON ; 


Charles/’ said his aunt : “ but I don’t want you to express 
these northern sentiments at home here, because it will 
create opposition and get up a commotion ; and, if there’s 
any thing I dislike, it is an unpleasant bluster. I had 
rather bear wrong than make a fuss, any time.” 

“You have a right to do this all the days of your life, 
as far as only yourself is concerned ; but you have no 
right to impose wrong, or see it imposed upon your fellow- 
beings, and be silent.” 

“Well,” responded Aunt Pattie, “I wish the world 
was all just right, and we could have things peaceful and 
comfortable ; but, tell me, w^on’t it be a horrible under- 
taking to break up here, and tote all the people off to the 
forests or prairies, even if they are willing to go ? ” 

“ It will be as hard to think about doing this as to 
accomplish it ; but I must hasten to do my duty towards 
the people.” 

He did so, and astonished the different members of his 
household by declaring his intention of giving to each 
servant the privilege of choosing either of remaining with 
him, or seeking another home. He bade them think long 
upon the subject ere they decided, as he chose to have 
them influenced by their own free-will alone in deciding. 
He prepared the papers. They were legally executed, 
and ready to be delivered, before he was willing to know 
the manner in which his servants had decided. 

On one of those beautiful days when all without the 
house invited its inmates abroad, to enjoy the mildly in- 
vigorating effect of the weather, Mr. Marshly, in company 
with his good-natured aunt, seated himself upon the 
veranda in front of his dwelling, and summoned all his 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


171 


servants to meet him there. In the shortest possible 
time, they all presented themselves. Such an assemblage 
of men, women, and children could not be regarded with 
aught like indifference by a thinking mortal. Most of 
them were tidily, if not neatly dressed : some displayed 
much taste in the arrangement of their turbaned kerchiefs, 
and other portions of their dress ; but it was the ex- 
pression of their intelligent countenances that gave the 
most interest to their appearance. 

“ We’se come ter see what massa wants on us,” said 
the foremost of the throng. 

“ Well, then,” said Mr. Marshly, “I wish you to tell 
me what you are going to do, after I have given you 
these free papers.” 

“ All on us ? ” asked one, — a tall, athletic man, with a 
complexion so very dark, that one felt, at first sight, that 
his blood was pure African. 

“ Yes, all of you,” replied Mr. Marshly ; “ each of you 
must speak for him or her self. So tell me. Jack, w T hat 
you intend to do.” 

“ I’se agoing for to work for ye, massa, ’s long as yer 
wants I to.” 

“Will you be willing to go to the West with me. 
Jack ? ” 

“ La’s bress my heart, massa ! ’pears like I’se willin’ to 
go with yer ony whar ye ’s, — that gude to me yer is ! ” 

The same sentiment was expressed by most of the 
group. A few there were who had relatives in Canada, 
who were escaped fugitive slaves. These were persons 
whose blood was Anglo-Saxon, with a slight taint of the 
African, enough to mollify their courage. These ex- 
pressed the most sincere affection for their master and 


172 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ missus,” as they called Miss Dresden. One had an aged 
mother in Canada ; another, a wife, who had escaped 
from a neighboring plantation. One more had a child 
she would like to meet again. 

“ Then go to your friends,” said Mr. Marshly : “ I will 
help you on your way, and wish you, too, a prosperous 
journey.” 

Tears of heartfelt gratitude coursed each other in swift 
succession down the cheeks of most of the party. Those 
who were to leave crowded around Mr. Marshly to listen 
to his assurances of kind regard for their highest good. 

“ Go,” he said to them, “ and do the best you can for 
yourselves and your friends. We part friends now ; and, 
if you will always try to do right, I shall ever be ready to 
help and encourage you.” 

It was settled, ere the assemblage dispersed, that those 
who wished to go to Canada should start on their way 
thither as soon as they could get ready ; while those who 
were to accompany Mr. Marshly to the West should re- 
main upon the plantation, until he had selected a suitable 
place to locate himself in that country. Aunt Pattie de- 
clared her willingness to “ tote,” as she expressed herself, 
anywhere with Charles, if he only took unto himself a 
comfortable sort of a wife. She liked him, and hated to 
leave his home ; but she must and would be comfortable, 
let what would come. Mr. Marshly started on his west- 
ern tour early in the spring of that same year, leaving his 
aunt happily employed in guiding the helm of affairs at 
home. 

We will leave him pleasantly engaged amid the beauties 
of this “ great garden of nature,” and travel back again 
to the household at the Groveton plantation. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


173 


CHAPTER XII. 


** There is a tear that’s ever bright, 

Though flowing from a bosom rude; 

Yielding ineffable delight, — 

The sparkling tear of gratitude.” — Anon. 

Very early in April, the family at Groveton felt it 
needful again to separate. Mrs. Felton’s health did not 
demand a longer stay, and she was desirous to find herself 
once more in the midst of her home duties. The feelings 
of the friends at this parting were somewhat unlike those 
they had experienced formerly on similar occasions. 
There was less of confident expectation mingled with the 
hope of again meeting. A chastened but not a sad feel- 
ing pervaded each bosom ; for one was missing now whose 
fragile form and lovely face had at other times added a 
charm to the little circle of loving hearts that clustered on 
the veranda to bid their departing friends adieu. 

Another journey, replete with mercies, was added to the 
long catalogue of blessings already received from a kind 
Heavenly Father. Again the Feltons found their home 
the scene of quietness and order, with good old Maggie, 
garrulous and thankful as heretofore, to weltome again 
the dear family to their own loved dwelling. 

Susan, as Maggie said, had grown nearly as tall as 
Kate. She was indeed a beautiful girl, and a great com- 
fort to her friends. Her presence was welcomed wherever 
she went. She did not appear to forget the dark slough 


174 


KATE FELTON ; 


from which she had by kindness been rescued, though not 
the least stain of its mire remained to remind others of 
her former situation. 

Mary Winthrop felt quite* as much at home, at Mrs. 
Felton’s, as she did at her guardian’s. After her return 
home, she looked anxiously every day for a letter from 
Mr. Marshly. She did not wait long ere the pleasure- 
giving missive arrived, and informed her that he was 
greatly enjoying his journey, admiring the country, and 
feeling grateful that he had been brought to do as he 
would like to be done by. 

“ I never was happier,” said he, “ than at this moment, 
for I never had so much motive before to prompt me to 
exertion. I shall write often, and keep you apprised in 
respect to my whereabouts and proceedings. There are 
many so inviting portions of country in which one might 
locate, that it is not an easy matter to select a spot for a 
home. One need not be fastidious here. I don’t intend 
to be away from you longer than is absolutely necessary. 
Would you were now where I could consult your judg- 
ment and taste daily ! ” 

“ Almost a flatterer, Kate ! — is he not ? ” said Mary, 
after having read this paragraph from the letter. 

“ I do not think so, Mary,” was the reply of her friend. 
“ He has spoken out of the abundance of his heart, and 
very truthfully too, I believe. He is too high-minded to 
flatter. I doubt not but his journeying through forests 
and flowers would be more delightful with you near him.” 

“ Kate, you will visit the W est with me some time, — 
won’t you ? ” interrogated Mary. 

“ If practicable, I shall. I shall anticipate such a 
journey with delight,” was the pleasant rejoinder. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


175 


Just then Maggie came into the room, and informed 
Kate that an outlandish sort of a man was in the kitchen, 
and wanted to see her. 

“ It isn’t anybody that’s ever been here afore,” said 
Maggie ; “ I’m sure of that.” 

“ Never mind that, Maggie : I am always willing to see 
all that call ; tell him I will be there in a minute.” 

Kate hastened to put away some papers with which she 
had been busy, until interrupted by Mary, and then went 
to see the person who had called upon her, asking her 
friend to go to her mother’s room during her absence. 
As soon as Kate entered the kitchen, and glanced at the 
weather-beaten stranger who was expecting her, he arose, 
and said, approaching her, — 

“ Plase your ladyship, is this the lady who took care of 
little Dora Smith, after her own mother felt so very ill, 
and died ? ” asked he. 

“ I am that person,” answered Kate. “ Did you know 
Mrs. Smith and her children ? ” 

“ And, sure, it’s meself who ought to know them,” said 
the man. fC It’s meself who ought to have stayed by and 
took care of the poor things ; but I didn’t, you see. I 
went off and left ’em to shift for themselves, like an ugly 
dog as I was thin ; and it’s gude enough for me now to 
come back an’ not find ’em. But, ye see, where me old 
woman used to live, they told that you knew all about 
them, an’ so I’ve taken the liberty to come to ask yer 
ladyship to tell me what I want to know.” 

“ Are you Dora’s father ? ” inquired Kate. 

“ I am, indade. Did they all die, the baby-boy an’ 
all?” asked he. 


176 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ Yes, Mr. Smith. Your wife died first. The babe 
did not live long, — not but a very few days after her 
death ; but Dora lived about a year and a half. I saw 
them all die, and I trust they are all at rest.” 

The tears coursed down the sunburnt cheeks of the 
lonely man. 

“ That’s more’n I desarve to know ’bout ’em ; but I 
want to thank your ladyship for your kindness. I’ve been 
told how ye found me little gal in the street, hungry and cold, 
and she went home with you to her mother ; and I’ve heered, 
too, how much ye did for my poor woman, when I was a 
wretch, and thinking nothing about her ; and thin how ye 
took Dora to your nice rich home, and treated her like a 
gintleman’s child till she died. And now I must thank 
you for all this. I want yer ladyship to forgive me, and 
give me a kind word, as yer did the others, if yer happens 
to see me sometimes. Will yer ladyship do this ? ” 

“ Certainly I will,” answered Kate. “ I have felt inte- 
rested in your welfare, even before I saw you. I do now , 
very much ; and I must tell you that your little Dora re- 
membered you, when she was dying, and wished me to 
tell you, if ever I should see you, that she wished you to 
become a Christian. She prayed that you might love her 
Saviour.” 

On hearing this, the strong man almost sobbed. He 
was greatly overcome, and some time elapsed ere he could 
command his voice to speak. When he did so, he said, — 

“ The little darlint ! She was gude to think about her 
bad father so. I shouldn’t er wondered if she had hated 
me. I was cross, and swore at her, when I used to get 
drunk. It was a bad husband and father that I was, in 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


177 


them days, yer ladyship. The Lord has, I hope, had marcy 
on me, and made me a better man.” 

“ Then our dear little Dora’s prayers were answered,” 
said Kate, “ and I have lived to know it.” 

“ Ye see, yer ladyship,” said Mr. Smith, without seem- 
ing to notice what she had last said, “ I was so trouble- 
some, drinking and swearing, and doing all sorts of bad 
things, that the officer was sint after me, and I jist cleared 
the coast ; for I’d ben to prison more’n once, and I didn’t 
like no such board. So, thinks I to meself, ye may sarch and 
sarch, but ye shan’t find me, Mr. Stars. Then, after I’d 
got away, for the life of me I couldn’t get back. It was 
hard to git any work to do, ’cause I was such a poor fellow. 
I did work a day, once in a while ; but I loved rum ye see, 
me lady, and I felt as if I must have a drop ; so I’d jist git it, 
an’ drink, an’ forgit all about me family and everything. 
Oh ! I wish good folks would make laws so that such poor 
critters as 1 was thin couldn’t git rum when they wanted 
it ! I wish I couldn’t ha’ got it thin. But, as I was say- 
in’, I could drink, and so I did ; till, one day, a man on 
the wharf where I was standing axed me if I knowed any- 
body that would like to ship. I didn’t know what he 
meant at first, me lady, ye see ; but he telled me that a 
vessel, all ready to sail, had to leave one man, because he 
was sick and couldn’t work, an’ they wanted somebody else 
to go right off. ‘Well,’ thinks I, yer see, me lady, ‘Pat 
Smith can work.’ 1 was sober then, and hungry, too, 
me lady, yer see ; so I jist tells him I wanted some work, 
an’ I’d go if they plased. So they hurried me at a great 
rate to ship and git ready ; an’ in two hours’ time, me 
lady, I was off on the water, without hardly thinkin’ ’bout 
8 * 


178 


KATE FELTON ; 


what I was doing. But ye see, me lady, it was a good 
thing for Pat Smith. There warnt the least bit of licker 
on board, except in the medicine chest, so I couldn’t git 
drunk ; an’ thin the cap’en, me lady, ye see, wouldn’t let 
a word like swearing he heard on his vessel. This was 
hard to me at first ; but now I thank the Lord it was so. 
There was one youngster among the crew, me lady, who 
was always pleasant and kind to me and all the men. He 
was a good hand among the rigging, always did duty, and 
was so peaceable-like that we all liked him. I used to 
see him reading, every little while, in a book he kept very 
choice-like ; and sometimes the tears was in his eyes, when 
he talked about his mother. And so I laughed at him, an’ 
called him baby ; but he didn’t seem to care. Ye see, I’m 
sorry for what I did to him now, me lady ; hut 1 didn’t 
know what I was doing thin, so I went on. An’ I don’t 
know what I’d a come to, me lady, but ye see I was taken 
sick, and I grew that bad that I expected to die. Then I 
was scared, for I hadn’t ben to a priest for a long time to 
confess, and get absolution ; and all my sins was on me so 
heavy, I was almost crazy to think I must die so. The 
cap’en was good to me, and the men did all they could 
for me. This youngster I’m telling ye about, me lady, 
knew better than all the rest what to do ; an’ though I’d 
laughed at him so much, and ben cross to him besides, 
he did every thing he could for me comfort, me lady. I 
didn’t see how he could be so gude to me, when I’d ben 
ugly to him ; an’ ye see, me lady, I told him so one 
day, when he was rubbin’ me legs an’ feet, when the fever 
was hard on me, and they ached dreadfully. Well, don’t 
you think ! he looked at me as pleasant as could be, and 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


179 


said he didn’t mind any thing I had done to him, — he 
wanted to do me gude. I never was so ’shamed in my 
life, me lady. I knew he wasn’t like most folks, an’ I 
knew he was a heretic ; but I see, me lady, that he had 
somethin’ I did not know nothin’ ’bout. So says I, 
‘ Sam, I donno what I’ll come to, if I die now. I havn’t 
been to the praist to confess this many a day ; an’ now I 
can’t git absolution nor go to confession, here on the big 
ocean, and I’ll be cussed an’ lost for ever, ye see.’ ‘ No ,’ 
says he, ‘ I hope not, Patrick ; for you have Jesus, our 
great High Priest, near by, an’ you can go to him.’ 
‘ Not such a bad man as I’ve ben,’ says I, ‘ without a 
praist to speak for me.’ ‘ Jesus says to you, in his word, 
to come, no matter how bad you are, — without money, you 
may go and confess your sins. He has promised to hear you.’ 
‘ Sam,’ says I, ‘ are you sure that is in the right Bible ? ’ 
‘Yes,’ says he, ‘and I have learned that it is true by 
having felt it. I have gone to your and my Saviour, and 
told him I was very wicked, and couldn’t make myself 
any better ; and he has heard me, and I feel that he has 
forgiven all my sins.’ 

“ ‘ What makes you feel so ? ’ says I. ‘ Did he spake 
to ye ever ? ’ ‘ Yes,’ says he, ‘ in the Bible ; an’ I be- 

lieved him.’ ‘ An’ what is it he says ? ’ says I. 

“ Then Sam took that book I’d seen him reading afore, 
an’ read these words, 4 Him that cometh unto me I will in 
no wise cast out.’ ‘Read that again,’ says I. Then 
he read it three or four times. ‘ An’,’ said he, ‘ this he 
says to you an’ me, Patrick, — is it good ? ’ I was that 
ill thin, me lady, that I couldn’t keep still, an’ kept a 
lookin’ at all the bad I’ve done ; an’ there wasn’t nothin’ 


180 


KATE FELTON ; 


good in me life I could look at, — so I thought I must 
die. ‘ Then/ says Sam, 6 try, Pat, to keep still a bit, 
an’ pray to Jesus.’ ‘ Then/ says I, ‘ I can’t, for I 
never larnt to pray ; besides, I’m that wicked, I darsen’t.’ 
* You need not try hard to learn/ says he ; and thin he 
kneeled down by the side of me bed, an’ prayed such a 
prayer, me lady, that I had to keep still to hear it. It 
went right to me heart, me lady. I knew jist what the 
words meant. f Thin/ says I, ‘ if that be praying, Sam, 
and yer sure, I’ll try and be after praying meself.’ 
f Do/ says he ; ‘ an’ remember, that, if you raaly want 
God, our Saviour, to help you, he . will. If you want a 
heart to love him, an’ ask him for it for Jesus’ sake, he 
will give it to you.’ 

“ After that, me lady, I prayed. It was not hard, as I 
thought afore that ; but ’twas that aisy, me lady, that a 
little child could ’er done it.” 

“ Yes, my friend,” replied Kate, “ your own dear little 
Dora did do it, and prayed for her father.” 

The man wept again at hearing this ; then, wiping the 
tears from his eyes, he went on : — 

“ I don’t want to tire yer ladyship, ye see.” 

“ There is no danger of that,” said Kate. 

“ Thank ye, me lady. I’ll tell ye, thin. Ye see, 
me lady, it was a long time we was on the ocean, for we 
went a long way ; and thin there wasn’t always a breeze 
to git us along, so we’d have to lie still many a day, an’ I 
kept sick a long time. As I told ye, me lady, I began to 
pray. It was strange enough at first ; but I began to be- 
lieve that them words Sam read in his Bible was meant 
for me, and thin I loved to pray. Sam was glad thin, for 


OB, A PEEP AT BEAUTIES. 


181 


I began to grow aisy. I liked everybody and every thing, 
only meself. When I was able to look out upon the great 
broad ocean, it seemed to me as if ’twas made by that 
very God that Sam read about, an’ that said he would be 
my Father. 

“ I thought about my dear little Dora, an’ her mother, 
‘that I left with nothin’, and thin I was distracted like ; 
for there I was sick, an’ a great ways off on the big waters. 
I told Sam me trouble ; an’, says he, ‘ Have ye told the 
Lord about it, Patrick? If ye have not,’ says he, ‘go 
an’ tell him every little thing that makes ye feel bad. He 
can help you.’ Thin I thought I hadn’t told him how I 
wanted to do somethin’ for me family, like a Christian 
man, an’ went right off and told him the whole ; an’, 
says I, in me prayer ye see, me lady, ‘ Tell me what to 
do, — I don’t know.’ Thin I felt as if I must git Sam to 
read me somethin’ about it out of his Bible ; an’ I axed 
him, an’ he did. He read this, ‘ Whatsoever thy hand 
findeth to do, do it with thy might.’ 

“ ‘ Thin,’ said he, ‘ what can you do this minute, Pat ? ’ 

“ I tried to think, me lady, but I couldn’t think of 
nothin’ that would help me woman and childers. I told 
Sam so. 

“ ‘ Yes,’ says he, ‘ you can. Ye can pray for them, — 
ye can ask our great Father to take care of them. I do 
this for my poor mother an’ sisters,’ says he, ‘ every 
night an’ day ; an’ I feel that my prayer is heard.’ 

“ ‘ An’ I’ll do this,’ says I. 

“ ‘ There is more you can do, Patrick,’ says Sam. 

“ ‘ What’s that ? ’ says I. 

“‘You can be patient, now you are sick, an’ thus suffer 


KATE FELTON; 


182 

God’s will. That will be doing what is your duty now ; 
an’ that is all you can do, — it is all God expects of you.’ 

“ After this, me lady, I felt better; for I asked Jesus 
to be a friend to me family, and I believed he would, be- 
cause Sam’s Bible said his word never failed. ’Twas a 
great while, me lady, afore I could move about ; an’, whin 
the vessel got into port, me lady, I was that weak, I 
couldn’t work. So they carried me to the hospital, where 
they took care of me for many a month ; an’ whin I was 
that better I could work a little, me lady, ye see, I was in 
a foreign land, an’ couldn’t git near me family ; but I 
kept on praying. I’d a died if it hadn’t ben for that, I 
thinks, me lady. But I grew stouter, an’ worked enough 
to take care of meself; an’ thin, after a spell, I did more. 
But thin, me lady, I didn’t do much ; an’ I couldn’t git 
ahead much, because I’s often sick. . The doctor said I 
had hurt me constitution by my old bad ways, an’ perhaps 
I should never git as well as I once was. This was sad 
news to me ye see, yer ladyship; but thin I felt I 
desarved worse’n that I’d had, so I was still.” 

“ But you found it true, that ‘ the way of transgressors 
is hard,’ didn’t you, Mr. Smith ? ” 

“ Indade I did, me lady ; but I think I am glad now, 
after six years an’ more, to be able to git back here an’ 
thank them what’s been gude to me family, though they 
be all gone.” 

“ Don’t you feel as if your prayers for them were 
heard ? ” asked Kate. 

“ That I do,” was the reply ; “ an’ more was done for 
’em than I thought could be.” 

“ I trust Dora’s prayers for you will be answered, and 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


183 


that you will be enabled to watch and pray, endure to the 
end, fighting against sin, and meet her in heaven, to part 
no more for ever.” 

“ God grant all this ! ” was his tearful rejoinder. 

“ I have a little keepsake to give you, Mr. Smith,” 
said Kate ; and she arose, and left the room. In a few 
minutes she returned, and handed the bereaved father a 
small likeness of his daughter, with a small ringlet of her 
hair. 

“ Do you know these, Mr. Smith ? ” she asked. 

“ I don’t believe I should, if you hadn’t given ’em to 
me,” responded the man ; “ but does this picture look 
jist like her ? ” 

“ Yes : it is an excellent likeness of her. Just before 
her last illness it was taken ; and this lock of hair was 
taken from her head only a few days before her death.” 

“ The little darlint ! ” said her father, kissing both 
tokens almost passionately. “ She did forgive her bad 
father, but I can’t ! She would be glad to know I’m a 
better man, — wouldn’t she, me lady ? ” 

“ She does know it, and has rejoiced already over your 
repentance, my friend.” 

“ Does the Bible say this ? ” asked he. 

“It does say that there is joy in heaven over one sinner 
that repenteth.” 

“ I’m glad I know that. I’ll like to think of it, ye see, 
me lady.” 

“ I hope you will, and be comforted by remembering 
it,” was Kate’s reply. 

When this truly interesting visitor arose to take his 
leave, he was invited to call again, not only by Kate, but 


184 


KATE FELTON ; 


by her mother, who had heard, in an adjoining apartment, 
the relation he had given of himself. Mary Winthrop, 
too, came forward to congratulate him upon the blessing 
of having such a beautiful child as his Dora had become, 
in heaven.” 

“ I thank ye all, me ladies, an’ I shall love ye all, if ye 
all knew and loved me child. A thousand, thousand 
thanks to yer ladyships,” and Patrick Smith bowed, and 
departed. 

“ ‘ God moves in a mysterious way, 

His wonders to perform,’ ” 

said Mrs. Felton. “ I hope we shall not be ungrateful to 
him for having permitted us to act as his agents, in doing 
good to this man’s family. I have felt, this morning, that 
it is blessed to give.” 

Mary Winthrop and Kate heartily responded to this 
sentiment. Old Maggie wiped the tears from her face, 
saying, — 

“ I like outlandish men like this one. I wish we could 
know more such.” 

Susan had been an interested listener and spectator, 
during the visit of the Irishman ; and, after he was gone, 
she told her friends that she hoped one day to see her own 
father as humble a Christian as Dora’s father now ap- 
peared. 

“ Don’t be weary in supplicating the mercy of our 
Heavenly Father, in his behalf, even thoug hthe blessing 
sought seems to tarry ; for it will come, and will not tarry,” 
said Mrs. Felton. 

i’he subject brought before the minds of this loving 
household by the event of the morning was made the sub- 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


185 


ject of conversation by its members during the day. They 
could not dismiss it, and did not wish to, if they could. 
Kate’s heart was filled with gratitude and love to the 
Being who had put it into her heart to pity and relieve 
the sorrow of a little child. It was long ere sleep visited 
her eyelids, after she betook herself to repose, on the night 
after her interview with Dora’s father. Her thoughts 
were busy with the past. The perusal of some of me- 
mory’s pages afforded real joy ; others disturbed her a 
little. 

She saw recorded in memory’s book every thing con- 
nected with her several journeys south ; but the most inte- 
resting page she read was that on which was imaged the 
face and figure of one wdiom she had ever since desired to 
behold again. 

“ I am weak,” thought she, “ thus to dwell in fancy up- 
on that interview. I must struggle against such weak- 
ness, for it may even now be a sin to indulge it. He may 
be married ere this ; and I must rise above this foolishness, 
and cease to think of this person.” 

Thus Kate resolved ; but she found it one thing to re- 
solve, and another to act. The image thus forbidden to 
enter her heart would intrude itself uninvited. Kate 
well knew his character. She had become acquainted 
with it from incidental remarks made by her friends. His 
taste, too, had often been the subject of remark in her 
presence. This knowledge, joined to what she had learned 
during their slight acquaintance, assured her that their 
feelings harmonized on most subjects, if not all. This led 
Kate ever to wish he could know of that which was to her 
most interesting. 


186 


KATE FELTON; 


“ Would not Dr. Stonely have been interested in hear- 
ing the recital of Patrick Smith this morning ? ” thought 
she. 

This was a wayward thought ; and she hastened to 
banish it by throwing her head upon her pillow, and 
courting — 

“ Nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep.” 

The agency thus sought came at length, and refreshed her 
with its kindly influence. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


187 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“Man liveth from hour to hour, and knoweth not what may happen.” 

Tupper. 

Not many days after Kate received this visit from the 
father of her loved protege Dora, a letter was received by 
her from Julia Abbott. This letter, which contained 
much that was interesting to her friend, had been acci- 
dentally delayed on its way for some days. Among 
other little items of intelligence, Julia informed Kate that 
she might expect her arrival at Rosefield early in the 
month of June. 

“1 am,” said Julia, “to be married to a gentleman by 
the name of Armstrong, and am to visit you on my bridal 
tour. Now don’t laugh over this letter, my dear friend, 
nor look perplexed and sober neither. Don’t think I am 
the most romantic girl in the world, either, because I 
haven’t had a long courtship. If you do, I shall convince 
you that you are wrong, when I see you, which I am 
quite impatient to do.” 

June came, with all its vernal loveliness. The garden 
belonging to Mrs. Felton’s mansion was in an excellent 
state of cultivation. The old gardener prided himself 
upon his forest of rose-bushes, as Susan called the beauti- 
ful rows of these little trees, now laden with roses of 
many varieties of hue and beauty. The sweetbrier, now 
in its glory, perfumed the air with its fragrance. The 
twining honey-suckle, too, added its graces to adorn the 
premises, mingled with the luxuriant jessamine, and many 
less obtrusive flowers that were inmates of the garden. 


188 


KATE FELTON ; 


Old Jacob had been informed by Maggie that southern 
company was expected ; and this information had aroused 
his ambition to its highest pitch to see his floral depart- 
ment in the highest state of improvement. He was grati- 
fied in his attempts, and told Kate that he didn’t believe 
the gardens at the South were handsomer than theirs, if 
they did have more sun. Kate’s opinion coincided with 
his own, and she congratulated him upon his qualifications 
as a gardener. This delighted the old man ; for he loved 
to feel that he merited the commendation of “ Miss Kate,” 
as he called her ; for he knew that she was too sincere to 
flatter him. 

At the time appointed, Julia and her companion ar- 
rived at Mrs. Felton’s. They were attended by only one 
servant ; and that was Hagar. Julia proudly presented 
her husband, who was a fine-looking personage, rather 
above the medium height, with a countenance not strongly 
marked, though on the whole prepossessing. He was 
one of those characters, Kate thought, as Julia presented 
him, that would not be long remembered when out of 
sight ; still he was pleasant in his manners, easy and affa- 
ble, and apparently much devoted to her he had chosen 
for his bosom friend. 

Julia was even more lovely in womanhood than she had 
been in girlhood. There was a thoughtfulness now, 
blended with her natural gaiety, which added loveliness to 
her manner, and made her doubly fascinating. 

Not long after her arrival at ftosefield, as she was sit- 
ting in her room, talking to Kate and Mary Winthrop, 
her husband having gone to some lecture the ladies did 
not care to attend, she asked Kate why she did not get 
married. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


189 


“ Because I have a very good reason for remaining un- 
married, ” answered Kate. 

. “ It is not because you could not have been, long ago,” 
said Julia. “1 know that from Mr. Marshlv and Mr. 
Stanly, whom you warned me not to become too much in- 
terested in.” 

“ Indeed ! ” said Kate, blushing, and looking at Mary, 
to learn if possible, by the expression of her countenance, 
how this statement affected her. 

Mary laughed heartily at her friend’s confusion. 

“ Kate,” said she, “ this is not news to me, at least so 
far as Mr. Marshly is concerned. He has told me all 
about it. But you have not told me any thing of Mr. 
Stanly, though once I suspected that gentleman was inte- 
rested in your welfare to an uncommon degree.” 

“ It was not necessary that I should say any thing 
about him. If I had loved him, and become his, this 
would have been known ; but I did neither.” 

“ It is well you did not. Your life would have been 
made unhappy with him. It could not have been other- 
wise,” remarked Julia. 

“ You knew him, then ? ” asked Mary. 

“ Yes, and all too well for my peace of mind, for a 
time. At the time I received your unwelcome warning, 
Kate, I imagined I loved Mr. Stanly very much ; but I 
did not, as I now see. I only loved what I imagined him 
to be. You know,” she continued, “ that he was a person 
of most agreeable manners. Every look, tone, and ges- 
ture, was pleasant to an unsophisticated girl like me. I 
thought him a splendid man, and good withal, too. He 
was not long in learning the state of my feelings, and re- 


190 


KATE FELTON ; 


ciprocated, as I then believed, heartily, every affectionate 
sentiment I cherished towards him. He offered me his 
hand, and I referred him to my father, who was at that 
time absent from home. Father’s stay was protracted 
some weeks, and Mr Stanly endeavored to obtain a pro- 
mise that I would become his wife, even if my father 
should not at first approve my choice ; but I would not 
promise any thing farther than that I would abide my 
father’s choice. He was not pleased with this, and ac- 
cused me of want of affection. I strove to convince him 
that he was wrong, and he appeared satisfied to await my 
father’s decision. But this he was prevented from doing 
by my droll cousin Joe Stanton. He is odd, and some- 
times ludicrous ; but he is a pure-minded, straightforward 
man as ever was created. He is noble, too, and despises 
any thing like meanness, even in his nearest friend. 

“ Joe called upon me one morning, after I had spent a 
delightful evening with Mr. Stanly, who had assured me 
many times, in conversation during the evening, that 
money was the last thing he thought of, in looking for- 
ward to the matrimonial engagement he hoped to form 
with me. He even said that sometimes he wished I was 
destitute of property altogether, that his disinterestedness 
could be made manifest. I was delighted at this, as you 
may both suppose ; for I really believed him, he seemed 
so devotedly unselfish. 

“ Cousin Joe threw his cap down carelessly that morn- 
ing, as was his wont, when he entered the house, say- 

“ ‘Good morning, Cousin Julia. I hope you are alone, 
for I wish to have a private talk with you.’ 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


191 


“ I told him I was quite alone, and ready to talk as long 
as he might wish to have me. 

“ ‘ I shall speak first, and ask you a question which you 
must answer candidly. Remember I love you as a sister, 
coz. Will you promise me this?’ asked he. 

“ I promised. 

“ ‘ Now,’ said he, 4 answer this question. Are you en^ 
gaged to Mr. Stanly ? * 

“ I answered truthfully, telling him exactly how matters 
stood between that gentleman and myself. He looked at 
me with his great truthful eyes in such a manner that I 
knew I was believed. 

“ * Now, another question,’ said he. ‘Will you place 
yourself and fortune in the keeping of one who boasts 
that he would rather not be trammelled with a wife, but 
must marry some one with property, as he could not get 
money without to pay the price of his iniquity, or, in 
other words, to silence those whom he has injured by the 
lawless indulgence of his base passions ? ’ 

“ I looked at him with astonishment, while he was speak- 
ing, and then replied that I would not, if I knew what I 
was doing. 

“ ‘ Well, then,’ said he, ‘ don’t faint away, nor go into 
hysterics, when I assure you that Mr. Stanly’s motives in 
seeking to marry you are such as I have named.’ 

“ I did not faint, but I was conscious of turning pale. My 
heart beat violently, while I exclaimed, — 

“‘Can it be possible! Are you sure, Cousin Joe, that 
what you have said is true ? ’ 

“ ‘ Very true, my dear coz, else I should not have told 
you,’ he replied. ‘ I heard these sentiments, as they fell 


192 


KATE FELTON; 


from his own lips. He did not know that a third person 
was being informed at the same time that he was boasting 
of his success in concealing his guilt, and passing for a 
highly respectable gentleman. I was a wilful eaves-drop- 
per, coz ; but I got in such a fix, I could not help being a 
listener. I could see Stanly while he was talking, but he 
did not see me until afterwards, if at all; as I was, at the 
time, entirely screened from observation by the curtains of 
a window recess, while I sat upon the window-seat with my 
limbs in a horizontal position.’ 

“ c Then it is true,’ said I. 

“ ‘ Very true,’ replied Joe ; ‘ and I am sorry and dis- 
appointed. Still, I was glad when I was an unwilling 
listener to these disclosures of character, because it would 
be a sad thing for my dear little coz to fall into the claws 
of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.’ 

“ ‘ And I am glad,’ said I, beginning to be indignant at 
the thought that I had been well-nigh caught in the trap 
set for me by a villain. ‘ It seems impossible, Cousin 
Joe, that Mr. Stanly can be such a man.’ 

“ ‘ But it is true, upon my honor,’ said he, ‘ that I heard 
what I have told you uttered by his own lips.’ 

“ ‘ I believe you,’ I replied, ‘ and thank you for ac- 
quainting me with the fact so soon.’ 

“ I felt mortified, vexed, disappointed, perplexed, and I 
hardly know what else, at that moment. I wept violently, 
passionately, for a while. Cousin Joe sat still, looking at 
me with an expression of sympathy upon his ingenuous 
countenance, that made me like him better than ever ; 
for I had supposed, from his love of the comic, that he 
would have painted my position rather ludicrously to him- 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 193 

self, and brought a similar view of it before my unfortu- 
nate self. Not so : he was tender and thoughtful towards 
me, though severe enough towards Mr. Stanly. 

“ ‘ A man feels degraded, abused, insulted/ said he, 

‘ by such base conduct in one whose image resembles his 
own. It is this makes me stark mad, and no mistake 
about it ; for such meanness makes your sex judge of 
mine by the base standard of these wretches, — 

“ Who smile and smile, and murder while they smile,” 

as one writer observes. Good men are looked upon with 
suspicion on account of these detestable hypocrites. If 
they would only show their colors outright, one could 
pass by on the other side of their influence ; but, as it is, 
every decent fellow is obliged to bear a part of the blame 
these infernal actions bring upon the community. Then 
just think of a fellow’s taking advantage of a man’s weak- 
ness in loving gold, and bribing him to secrecy, after 
having violated all that is dear to him as a husband. I 
say, Cousin Julia, if I didn’t feel it was wicked to swear, 
I should swear roundly, and no mistake, at these high- 
life abominations. There is one thing, though,’ he con- 
tinued, * about it : they can’t bribe to secrecy in the other 
world ; a fellow ’ll get his dues there.’ 

“ ‘ That is a comfort,’ said I ; s but I hope no one 1 
have ever known will enter that world without first re- 
penting of his sins.’ 

“ ‘ You feel tender towards Stanly, and I don’t wonder,’ 
he said. *' He is a splendid-looking man, and very agree- 
able too. I don’t wonder you like him.’ 


9 


194 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ ‘ I don't like him/ I replied. ‘ I like what I thought 
he was.’ 

“ ‘ Now, that’s right, coz ! ’ said Joe, emphatically. 
‘ Give me you yet. But how are you agoing to dismiss 
him ? ’ 4 

“ ‘ I have not as yet concluded/ I answered. ‘ Would 
it be best not to see him again? That would be the 
easiest way of doing it.’ 

“ ‘ I don’t know. I think your sex generally manage 
these things best, without man’s advice.’ 

“ I thanked him for this compliment, and set myself to 
study what course to pursue. I thought it would be 
doing as I would like to be done by, if I saw him, and 
told him just what I had heard ; although I shrank from 
the task. It was hard ; but I determined to perform it. 
I could just then, I believe, have nerved myself to any 
thing, my feelings were in such a state of excitement. 

“ In the afternoon of that same day Mr. Stanly came to 
see me, to learn, as he told me, whether I was to become 
his ; and he did learn the fact, as Cousin Joe afterwards 
said, ‘ with a vengeance.’ 

“ He came in with the same gentlemanly, loving manner, 
towards me that he had ever assumed. I was sitting 
alone in the parlor, and received him coolly, but politely. 
I soon laid before him what I had heard, verbatim. He 
turned very, very pale, and asked if I could possibly be- 
lieve him guilty of all this. I told him I was sorry to be 
obliged to do so, and, had this been a mere report, should 
not have hearkened to it an instant ; but that, having been 
told by one whom I had never known guilty of a false- 
hood, I must believe it. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


195 


“ ‘ But,’ he asked, f do you know that this friend of 
yours has not been misinformed ? ’ 

“ ‘ 1 think he is certain of what he told me, because he 
heard it from your own lips, and saw you while you were 
saying it,’ said I. 

“ He looked confounded, and asked, in a husky tone, 
if I was willing to tell him who told me these things 
against him. 

“ ‘ My cousin, Joseph Stanton,’ I replied. 1 Do you 
know him ? ’ 

“ ‘ I do,’ was his faint rejoinder. 

“ I then informed him of Cousin Joe’s whereabouts at 
the time he overheard his boasting in regard to me. 

“ ‘ And now,’ said I, ‘ Mr. Stanly, I am sorry you are 
such a person ; you are not at all the gentleman I loved. 
That one is somewhere, and I believe I shall see him some 
day. I only imagined you were he. I loved the character 
I fancied you were. Ignorantly I gave the hand of friend- 
ship to an impure person, from whom every virtuous 
woman ought to withhold it ; but now I say to you, Mr. 
Stanly, that you must not visit me again. Go, and seek 
repentance for your misdeeds, else I can never wish to 
behold your face again. I wish you to reform, but fear 
you never will.” 

“ I then turned from him, bid him good-by, and ran 
up stairs to think over the events of the day. I had kept 
up bravely in Mr. Stanly’s presence, and I was determined 
he should not know how deeply my pride was wounded ; 
but, when I was alone, I gave vent to my feelings, and 
wept until I was well-nigh sick.” 

Julia paused/ 


196 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ You did well, Julia,” said Kate. “ I wish all our 
sex would take this same decided stand against impurity 
that you have. I feel, I know, it would save much men- 
tal as well as physical suffering in our land. Besides, it 
would raise the standard of morality ; for it is not vanity 
for us to believe that men, however much they may de- 
grade themselves, do value the smiles of virtuous woman.” 

“ I believe that is true,” said Mary Winthrop ; “ but 
do, Mrs. Armstrong, tell us if your husband knows of 
your heart-adventure with this Mr. Stanly.” 

“ He knows all about it,” was the reply. “ I knew 
him, — that is, I had met him a few times before I was 
so much interested in the other gent. Soon after Mr. 
Stanly was dismissed by me, he left the place, — he took 
French leave ; but I was glad to have him go. Mr. 
Armstrong soon became a frequent visitor at my father’s, 
and you already know what is the result of those visits ; 
but I assure you that I could never have believed there 
could exist so great a difference in men, as I have found 
between him and the one I thought I had loved. Mr. 
Armstrong has never said such foolish things to me as the 
other has ; and, when he thinks I err, he does not scruple 
to tell me so, — very kindly, to be sure, is his manner of 
doing this, but still he does it.” 4 

“ Do you take the liberty to reciprocate this kindness ? ” 
inquired Kate. 

“ No, not much : at least, I have seen but seldom an 
occasion to speak, if ever. Mr. Armstrong, however, 
wishes me to do so frankly : he seems to think, as you do, 
that those who are to walk life’s pathway together must 
be united in the sacred bonds of friendship, as well as 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


197 


drawn by the more captivating cords of affection. Friend- 
ship, he says, may and does exist where conjugal love 
does not nor cannot ; but the latter cannot long endure 
without the former for its basis. I like my husband all 
the better for not pretending to think me an angel,” she 
continued ; “ because I can act without a feeling of restraint 
caused by the constant fear that I may do something to 
alter his too good opinion of me.” 

Mr. Armstrong now came in, and the conversation 
changed to other subjects. Susan entered the room soon 
after, and brought a message to Kate, who arose and 
accompanied her to the kitchen. 

“ Another call from Dora’s father,” said she, as she left 
the room. 

Patrick Smith begged to be excused for calling at so 
late an hour, but felt that he could not leave the place 
without offering a token of gratitude to her who had done 
more than any other person for his family. 

“ I didn’t know jest what yer ladyship would like,” 
said he ; “ but I saw some perty boxes, an’ so I thought 
I’d jest git one of ’em for yer ladyship. An’ 1 hope, if it 
plazes ye, me lady, ye’ll take it an’ kape it, an’ whin ye 
see it not forgit that Patrick Smith remembers yer kind- 
ness, me lady.” 

Kate accepted the gift, and sincerely thanked the donor. 

“ I did not need any thing to remind me of your grati- 
tude, Mr. Smith,” said she, “ but I will keep this workbox 
as a valued present ; while I will ever pray that the best of 
Heaven’s blessings may attend your pathway through life, 
and that you and I may meet again here, — if not here, in 
that world to which our dear little Dora has gone.” 


198 


KATE FELTON ; 


Mr. Smith then arose to depart, saying that he expected 
to leave the place early on the following morning ; and he 
thought he should return to his native land, and take care 
of his poor old mother, whom he had many years ne- 
glected. Kate commended the man for this determina- 
tion. She took him cordially by the hand, and bade him 
farewell. 

“ How true it is,” said she, on returning to her friends, 
“that religion is something besides creeds, forms, and 
words ! Now here is this poor illiterate Irishman taught 
by the Spirit his present obligations, and he is going back 
to perform his long-neglected duty towards an infirm parent. 

‘ Words that breathe and thoughts that burn ’ 

are desirable on the subject of piety as well as others ; but 
it is the doing, after all, that proves the sincerity of one’s 
profession.” 

Kate showed her present to her friends. It was neat 
and tasteful, though not a workbox of the nicest kind. 
She was greatly pleased with this gift. The expression 
of feeling that prompted the offering was delightful to 
her. 

Mr. Armstrong appreciated her feelings, and remarked 
that he supposed she valued that present more than she 
would had it been a diamond ring, given with a less noble 
motive. 

“ I certainly do,” was the reply ; “ for — 

‘ It is not the value it can boast 
That makes me love this offering most, 

But ’tis the sacred feeling.’ ” 

“ Mr. Armstrong,” said Julia, “has been suggesting the 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


199 


idea of following your example, Kate, in trying to do good 
to the degraded white population at home.” 

“ I rejoice to hear this,” was Kate’s rejoinder. 

“ I had, like most people,” said the gentleman, “ thought 
these poor whites too degraded to be benefitted ; but my 
observation of what you have effected has convinced me 
that I have erred in judgment upon this subject. I be- 
lieve missionary labor would not be lost upon home 
heathen.” 

“ We must not expect that every poor white girl can 
become, by the use of means, what Susan Wilkins is,” 
said Julia. 

“ No,” remarked Kate : “ such a mind as hers is not 
common, even in the best circles of society ; but we do 
see the clownish and rude exchanging places, I might say 
birthrights, with the naturally refined and gentle. Some- 
times, as if for some mysterious purpose, nature leaves a 
clown in a palace, "while she hides a king in some mean 
hovel. It was one of these unriddled acts that gave Susan 
to my care. Her nature is queenly, although her parent- 
age is low.” 

“ But,” said Julia, “ if I do not find a diamond to 
polish, I may do something towards polishing a rougher 
substance ; and the most unsightly stone may be improved 
by passing through certain processes.” 

“ Let me know if you meet with encouragement in car- 
rying out your plans,” said Kate, as the friends separated 
for the night. 

Soon after this conversation, the bridal party left Rose- 
field. They had all enjoyed their stay at Mrs. Felton’s, but 
most of all Hagar, who was most sincerely attached to Kate. 


KATE FELTON ; 


^00 


Her shrewdness of mind had led her to infer that J ulia 
had been influenced by this friend in her conduct towards 
herself. She was now a free woman. Julia had given 
her free papers ere her marriage ; but the kindness with 
which she had been treated for a year past, by Julia, en- 
deared her mistress to this faithful servant so much, that 
she could not part with her, for a time at least. 

“ If any thing happens, dese yer papers will keep me 
from bein’ sold off ter auction, wont they. Miss Felton ? ” 
asked Hagar, one day. 

“ Yes, they certainly will,” was the reply. 

“ I’se glad on it ; for, now missus is good to me, I’d a 
heap ruther stay 'with her. All I’se hated ’bout it is feel- 
in’ afeered of somethin’ or other’s happenin’, so I’d have 
ter be sold ; but now I shan’t think of that no more.” 

It was with a light heart that she accompanied her now 
kind friend on the remainder of her tour. 


OH A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


301 


CHAPTER XIV. 

" Riches take to themselves wings, and fly away.” 

We will now leave Kate and those dear to her at Rose- 
field, in the enjoyment of. each other’s society, and other 
kindred blessings, while we take a trip across the Atlan- 
tic, and visit the city of Paris. We go thither to seek an 
old acquaintance, of whom we have not received any intel- 
ligence for even more than a year, — it may be a longer 
period. 

She was then, in company with her husband and eldest 
daughter, making the tour of the continent, — reserved, 
exclusive, and haughty as when we first saw her, while 
she was riding in the cars, with Kate and others, 
from Rosefield to Albany. Mrs. Upton has prevailed up- 
on her husband to spend some months in the city of taste 
and gaiety ; and she is exulting in the idea of being en- 
abled to enjoy a season in such a manner as to make her 
an object of envy to many of her fashionable acquaintances 
at home. 

She dreams not of change, even if she reflects at all, 
which is hardly possible. Her butterfly kind of life pre- 
cludes reflection. She lives on ; and the days fly on apace, 
— the present, if possible, always exceeding its yesterday 
in gaiety and dissipation. The lodgings taken by Mr. 
Upton were in one of the most splendid hotels in the city. 
Nothing was wanting to add to the luxury and elegance 
of the apartments occupied by these votaries of fashion ; 

9 * 


KATE EELTON ; 


for it was pleasure, and pleasure alone, they sought in 
their sojourn in the metropolis of France. 

One morning, upon awaking at a late hour, after a night 
of excitement and fatigue, Mrs. Upton was somewhat sur- 
prised to find that her husband was not in her room, as 
usual. She was startled at observing the appearance of 
the bed ; for it plainly indicated that her husband’s place 
had been unoccupied during the night, or rather morning. 
It was nearly three o’clock before Mrs. Upton had fallen 
asleep herself. She arose, made a hasty toilet, without 
ringing for assistance, and hurried to the sleeping-room of 
her daughter. 

“ Mina,” said she, approaching the bed, “ Mina ! wake 
up ! I am concerned about your father. He is not at 
home, and has not been all night.” 

• Mina opened her eyes, and roused herself to arise and 
dress. It was much earlier than she had been accustomed to 
leave her bed, and she was feeling the reaction of the ex- 
citement of the previous night ; still she sympathized with 
her mother’s anxiety, and they together entered her bou- 
doir. They seated themselves, and spent some little time 
in vain speculations in regard to the non-appearance of the 
husband and father. 

Anxiety was depicted on the countenances of both mo- 
ther and daughter. They were attired in beautiful morn- 
ing dresses of embroidered merino. The luxurious tresses 
of Mina were tastefully arranged, but her glossy curls 
hung around a pallid face. Neither did Mrs. Upton ne- 
glect her personal appearance. Her hair was braided with 
care, and tastefully confined under a superb morning cap. 

Wearied with surmises, and eager, momentary expecta- 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


203 


tion of him who came not, Mrs. Upton reclined upon her 
couch of crimson velvet, while Mina looked over a morn- 
ing paper to while away the time. Breakfast they thought 
not of, for appetite was wanting. They were silent dur- 
ing some moments. The mother closed her eyes, as if 
courting repose, when suddenly they were aroused by the 
sound as of many voices in the hall below. Next came 
the sound of many footsteps ascending the stairway. It 
seemed, as they drew near to the entrance of the apartment 
where Mrs. Upton and Mina were listening with intense 
eagerness, that some heavy burden was being borne. Un- 
conscious of the horror that awaited them, yet tortured by 
an indefinable feeling of fear, Mina arose involuntarily, 
and approached the door. She laid her hand upon the 
fastening, but the noise of the footsteps she had before 
heard rapidly receded. She heard the words, “ Carry him 
into their parlor/’ pronounced by a voice she recognized as 
that of one of the proprietors of the hotel. In an instant, 
she had opened the door, and passed from the boudoir into 
the hall. 

What is the matter ? ” asked she of a gentleman stand- 
ing near the door ; “ is any one hurt ? ” 

The gentleman replied, without being aware of whom 
he was addressing, e< Some one has fallen in a duel. It is 
an American gentleman, I believe.” 

“ Did you hear his name ? ” asked Mina, in hurried ac- 
cents. 

“ Yes : it was ‘ Upton/ I think.” 

“ Merciful God ! ” exclaimed she, “ it is my father • 
But is he dead, or only wounded ? ” inquired she. 

Ere the gentleman could reply, Mrs. Upton rushed into 
the hall. 


204 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ Where is my husband ? ” she shrieked. “ Oh, tell 
me ! tell me ! ” and she hastened towards the parlor door, 
which was open, and crowded with persons who seemed 
eager to see what was passing within. Her steps, how- 
ever, were arrested before she reached the threshold, and 
she was led back to her own room, and laid upon the sofa. 
Mina was near her ; and the loud hysterical cries of both 
mother and daughter resounded through the house. For 
hours there was no abatement of their agony. They knew 
not then all the suffering that awaited them ; but they re- 
alized that they were bereaved, strangers too, — except in 
those circles where the wretched are soon forgotton, — 
and far from home. 

The violence of their grief abated towards evening; 
and Mrs. Upton, whose physical nature was exhausted by 
the indulgence of her great sorrow, lost for a time the re- 
collection of her trouble in sleep. Mina ceased her loud 
lamentations, but refused to lie down, even when urged 
to do so. She could not sleep, she said, and did not like 
to leave her mother. 

We pass over the remaining hours that intervened, be- 
fore the body must be laid in the grave. Sadly, indeed, 
they passed to the bereaved ones ! Still the day came all 
too quickly, when they were to gaze for the last time upon 
one whom they loved, and who had been to them an indul- 
gent father and husband. The moment of parting with 
the dear remains was one of agony to the mourners ; but 
it went by, and the body was borne away, followed 
by many who had known the deceased in life. A few 
there were who sympathized deeply with the afflicted 
mother and daughter, and followed the dead with feelings 


OB, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


205 


of sorrow to its last repository, where both taste and ele- 
gance combined to prevent, if possible, the gloomy pall of 
death to be heeded by those who visited the place. The 
funeral over, the world moved on as before. 

Mrs. Upton felt her loneliness increased, her sorrow 
unassuaged. She yielded to the overwhelming current of 
her grief, took to her couch, and refused to be comforted. 
Alas, she had not known her only source of comfort in 
this trying season ! Mina shared her mother’s sorrow, but 
seemed to remember that it was necessary for them to look 
into the state of their affairs. Her father’s purse had been 
handed to her by those who had found it, as they were 
preparing him for the grave. It contained but a trifle of 
money. This had startled Mina ; and she felt that some- 
thing must be done to arouse her mother to necessary ac- 
tion. «The thought of calling her mother’s attention to 
those matters which had always been attended to by her 
father was painful. She felt the need of a judicious friend 
to give her counsel. The thought would intrude itself, 
that her mother might have had more friends now to look 
to, if she had evinced more regard for others in the days 
of her prosperity ; but this reflection could avail little 
now. 

Mina felt there was a change of manner towards her, in 
those who had heretofore come at her bidding. She 
might imagine this, but she feared it was too true. In a 
state of perplexity she lingered near her mother’s bedside, 
and strove to divert the mind that was almost crushed by 
the heavy trial it had borne from the thoughts of its own 
grief. A few days passed that brought no change ; then 
a new source of sorrow was opened to the view of both 


206 


KATE FELTON ; 


Mrs. Upton and Mina. To the former, it was a cloud big 
with mercy-drops ; for it aroused her faculties, and proba- 
bly prevented her from becoming a monomaniac. 

The proprietor of the establishment in which they re- 
sided had been a patient creditor to Mr. Upton, who had 
been for some time in arrears for his lodgings ; and he felt 
that now his claim ought to be recognized, and the debt 
discharged. Rumor, with her hundred tongues, whis- 
pered that the man had died insolvent ; and Mr. Bowman 
went respectfully, yet anxiously, to Mrs. Upton, to learn 
what was the fact in regard to this report. 

He found her brooding, in the very luxury of grief, 
over the death of her husband. She shrank from the 
intrusion of his presence ; but he bowed politely, seated 
himself in the chair to which Mina pointed him, and in- 
troduced his unpleasant errand. Mrs. Upton was aaoused, 
her pride was wounded ; and she demanded an explanation 
of the state in which her husband’s affairs had been left 
of the agent, — a man of excellent character, who had just 
arrived in Paris on the evening preceding the death of 
Mr. Upton. 

The agent informed her of facts of which she had 
before been ignorant. He told her that the estates of her 
husband at home had been mortgaged to a large amount, 
to sustain their expenses abroad. Mrs. Upton remem- 
bered having put her name to papers at different times, 
but never stopped to inquire into the character of the 
instrument she signed. It was, she said, enough for her 
to manage her own affairs ; she could not trouble herself 
to know her husband’s business : if he only had money to 
give her when she asked for it, she cared not how he came 
in possession of it. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


207 


She was aware that he had gambled at times after he 
went to Paris, but never dreamed of his involving himself 
in difficulty by so doing. In the kindest manner the 
agent told her all. He had followed Mr. Upton to the 
billiard-rooms on the night before his tragical end, and he 
endeavored to persuade him to abstain from playing. He 
entreated him to go to his lodgings with himself, as he 
wished to lay before him some matters of great importance 
to himself and family. 

66 1 cannot, I will not, hearken to you now,” was Mr. 
Upton’s mad answer. “ All I have is perilled : if I do 
not win back a portion of what I have lost this night, my 
family will be penniless hereafter.” 

“ The sequel of this determination you already know,” 
said the agent. “ He accused his antagonist of foul play 
in his destruction, and thus provoked the challenge, 
which, being accepted, was the means of terminating his 
life.” 

“ Is all father’s property gone ? ” asked Mina. 

“ I am sorry to be obliged to inform you that such is 
the case. Every thing was involved at home ; and I came 
here, upon my own responsibility, to see your father, and 
persuade him to return home, and make, if possible, some 
compromise with his creditors before matters grew worse.” 

“ O my God ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Upton, “ what am I 
to do?” 

The agent regarded her with a look of pity. 

“ Command my services, madam,” said he ; “ I will do 
for you whatever I can.” 

Mrs. Upton thanked him in an abstracted manner; her 
mind was too much occupied to admit of her doing so 


203 


KATE FELTON ; 


differently. Mina expressed much gratitude. This friend 
had never been a favorite with the mother : he was too 
straightforward and independent in a course of right, to 
be agreeable to a person who shrank from hearing unwel- 
come truths. He had more than once suggested, rather 
indirectly, that certain retrenchments were preferable to a 
total failure, and loss of every thing. After the death of 
Mr. Upton, he had remained near the widow awaiting her 
summons ; for he would not appear before her as a silent 
rebuke, as he must now seem, without having been called 
to appear. 

Mina suggested that they should start as soon as pos- 
sible for home. The agent kindly concurred in this 
suggestion ; and Mrs. Upton felt it was desirable to get 
home, but how to defray the expenses of a voyage she 
could not imagine. 

“ I have not enough by me,” said she, “ to pay for 
second-rate accommodations on board a steamer.” 

The agent pledged himself to see that a passage was 
secured for them, if they would like to leave Paris as 
soon as that would oblige them to do. 

“ You shall return,” he said, “ with the accommo- 
dations such as you enjoyed on your outward passage.” 

They did so ; and, to man’s honor be it spoken, an ap- 
peal was not made in vain. Many gentlemen, who, 
although almost entirely strangers to the ladies thus pro- 
videntially thrown upon their charity, felt it a duty to aid 
them. A respectable purse was thus made up through 
the instrumentality of Mr. Upton’s agent, which, he was 
well aware, would be greatly needed by his stricken family 
should the absent ones be spared to reach their native land. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. £09 

The youngest children of Mrs. Upton’s, Frank and 
Delia, had been placed at boarding-schools previous to 
their parents’ leaving America, where they were to remain 
until their return home. 

What a return this had proved ! Mrs. Upton laid in 
her berth during most of her passage. She was not sea- 
sick, for her heart-sickness prevented this. Mina suffered 
some in this way ; but a feeling of despondency and 
grief prevailed over every other. The mother and 
daughter attracted much attention by their uncommon 
taciturnity and sadness. They seemed to create an atmo- 
sphere of gloom that filled the cabin. 

' A short trip, and they were landed at New York. 
From thence they went to the place where Frank and 
Delia were expecting their arrival. We pass over the 
meeting of these bereaved ones without dwelling upon its 
agony : it may be more easily imagined than described. 
Mrs. Upton brought to her little ones the sorrowful news 
that they were not only fatherless, but poor. 

Oh, that one little word ! How strangely painful it 
sounds to those who are to learn for the first time its mean- 
ing by experience. 

Mrs. Upton said she thought it best to go to some large 
city, where, if she must be poor, she could hide herself 
amid the crowd. 

“ Those that I have heretofore looked down upon shall 
not have the privilege of returning the compliment. I 
shall go where I am unknown.” 

A bad resolve this, yet it was executed with little delay. 
The small remnant of furniture left by the creditors had 
been stored ; and Mrs. Upton sold every article of it that 


210 


KATE FELTON ; 


could possibly be spared from housekeeping on a very 
limited scale. What then remained she took, with her 
children, to the London of America, to lose herself, as 
she expressed it, with her poverty, in an unconcerned 
crowd. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


211 


CHAPTER XY. 

“ Feelings of unremembered pleasure, such, perhaps, 

As have no slight or trival influence 
On that best portion of a good man’s life, — 

His little nameless, unremembered acts 

Of kindness and of love.” Wordsworth. 

A quiet summer sped rapidly away to our friends at 
R-osefield. Early in September, they received a visit from 
their New York friends, Mr. Fielding and lady. Mr. 
Marshlv also visited Mary ; “ but it must,” he said, “ be a 
bird-like visit,” because he was needed at the new home 
he had chosen, where a dwelling-house was already in 
process of erection, and where many hands were employed 
in clearing land to be cultivated the next season. He 
spoke in terms of admiration of the country, and of the 
plan he had thus far executed in respect to his men. 

“ It is a glorious country,” said he, “ and I am glad I 
have contemplated this removal.” 

He obtained a promise from Mrs. Felton and Kate that 
they would accompany Mary, some time during the next 
year, to his western home, if he should get things in a 
state to make them comfortable. He expected, he said, 
to complete his house, and make the surroundings some- 
what inviting, by another autumn. He had already had 
some fruit-trees set out, and some stray natives of the soil 
had been grafted into good fruit-trees by a skilful hand ; 
so that he had already begun to look forward to the time 
when an abundance of fine fruit would repay the compara- 
tively small effort of its cultivation. 


2\2 


KATE FELTON ; 


When Mr. and Mrs. Fielding returned to New York, 
they were accompanied by Kate, Mary Winthrop, and Mr. 
Marshly. The latter had some business to transact in that 
city, which would detain him for a few days ; so that it was 
a matter of no regret to him that Mary was to be, during 
the time, where he could see her daily. A Dw days pre- 
vious to leaving Rosefield on this tour of pleasure, Kate 
had met Carrie Stonely in the street. The child that was 
was fast becoming a young lady. She recognized Kate 
with the peculiar pleasure she had ever evinced at meeting 
this wayside friend, and her emotions were reciprocated by 
Kate, — from whom the image of herself and father was 
never long absent. 

“ Don’t you think,” said Carrie, innocently, “ that my 
father has not got married yet ! ” 

“ Is he going to be married ? ” asked Kate. 

“ I don’t know. He says he wishes me to have another 
good mother, but he don’t know as he shall be permitted 
to give me such an one, or the one that he is desirous to. 
I wish,” she continued, earnestly, “ that you. Miss Felton, 
could be my second mamma.” 

“What a girl!” said Kate, laughing. “We don’t 
know what will be best for us. “ If you should have me, 
you might wish I was somewhere else, soon.” 

“ I don’t believe that,” answered Carrie. “ Do you 
ever visit our city. Miss Felton ? ” 

“ New York, you mean ? ” 

“ I do.” 

“ I am now expecting to go there soon.” 

“ I hope I shall see you there. Where will you 

stop ? ” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


21 3 


“ At Mr. Fielding’s, — Fifth Avenue.” 

“ Oh ! I am well acquainted with Mrs. Fielding’s sister, 
and I intend to go with her and make you a call, if I go 
home before you leave the city.” 

“ I shall like very much to see you, in New York or 
anywhere else,” was Kate’s rejoinder. 

It was with mingled feelings that Kate joined her 
friends in this journey. She hated to confess the fact, 
even to herself, — and yet fact it was, — that her heart 
always beat quicker when she was nearing the place where 
Dr. Stonely resided. In vain she asked herself the ques- 
tion, il How can I be so foolish ? ” The only answer she 
ever received was an accelerated pulsation of that wilful, 
wayward member, the heart. After her arrival in New 
York, her thoughts, oftener than ever before, reverted to 
the only person she had ever known who had engrossed so 
large a portion of her thoughts. 

Mr. Fielding loved to rally her upon continuing year 
after year unmarried ; it was certain, he said, that there 
was a kindred mind somewhere in a like situation, waiting 
for some propitious moment to bring them together. He 
was not quite sure who this personage was, but said he 
should not wonder if it should prove to be Dr. Stonely. 
It was evident to this gentleman’s mind that he was wait- 
ing for some one, else he would have chosen a companion 
ere then, from among the many splendid women with whom, 
he was acquainted. 

Kate felt annoyed even when this subject was referred 
to by her friends. They could not know how much so : 
if they had even surmised the thing, they would have 
been silent. 


214 


KATE FELTON ; 


In another part of the city, not three miles distant from 
the residence of Mr. Fielding, stood a handsome dwelling- 
house, with marble columns in front, and steps of the 
same material leading to the door, upon which was a silver 
plate inscribed with the name of the resident. The 
appointments of the place, and all its surroundings, cor- 
responded well with its exterior. 

One morning, not long after Kate’s arrival in the city, 
the proprietor of this mansion was cheered while at the 
breakfast-table by receiving a letter from his absent 
daughter. He broke the seal with fond parental eager- 
ness, and ran his eye over various little items of mutual 
interest to himself and child. Near the bottom of the 
second page his attention was fixed for some moments. 
At the commencement of a paragraph she asked the 
question, “ Have you forgotten Miss Felton ? ” 

She then went on, saying, “ I have seen her. I hope 
you will become more acquainted with her ; for she is, I 
expect, in your city at present, visiting at Mr. Fielding’s. 
Father, it cannot do any hurt, and I hope you will not 
think me bold if I tell you that I wish Miss Felton could 
be my mother.” 

“ Dear Carrie ! ” said Dr. Stonely, mentally (for this 
gentleman was none other than he) ; “ she does not think 
how glad I should be to gratify this innocent wish.” 

“ What does Carrie say ? ” inquired Aunt Abbv, who 
was housekeeper for the doctor. (( I hope she is well.” 

“ Very well,” replied the other, “ and expects to have 
an escort home next week.” 

“ It would seem good to see her,” was Aunt Abby’s 
reply. “ But, doctor, I have been thinking the house 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


215 


would be a great deal pleasanter if you had a good wife 
to brighten it with a sunshiny face.” 

“ I do not doubt it would/’ responded he, carelessly ; 
“ perhaps I shall have one some time.” 

<e I don’t see how you’ll ever get time to get married, 
doctor, if you don’t take it without asking.” 

“ I shall find time when I find a suitable person to 
become my wife,” said the doctor, gravely. “ I feel the 
need of such a companion, and now I am abundantly able 
to support a wife in a style suitable to the taste of the 
most refined. I have sometimes regretted marrying as I 
did in early life, and making my Carrie’s loved and 
gentle mother the sharer of my early trials. I expressed 
this feeling to her ere she left me. She bade me banish 
it, saying it had added to her comfort to be my companion, 
and the mother of my darling child.” 

A professional call here interrupted the conversation. 
The doctor went out to commence the business of the 
day, but one little sentence in Carrie’s letter occupied 
much of his thoughts. He had seen Mr. Fielding only a 
day or two before, and had been invited by that gentle- 
man to call at his house. He had engaged to do so at the 
time, without knowing that any one in whom he was par- 
ticularly interested was an inmate there. He would 
endeavor to fulfil his engagement that very evening. He 
would call, if his stay must be limited to a few minutes. 
Thus deciding, he dismissed the subject for a time, and 
occupied his mind with the duties of his vocation during 
the day. 

The ladies on Fifth Avenue were informed by their 
hostess that several guests were expected in the evening. 


216 


KATE FELTON ; 


Mary felt indifferent at hearing this announcement, for 
Mr. Marshly had left the city ; but Kate manifested much 
pleasure. 

“ He may. possibly be among the rest,” thought she. 

The evening came. Many guests had arrived, and the 
hours were passing away without bringing any thing of 
much interest to Kate, when the door-bell rang, and Dr. 
Stonely was announced. Kate started involuntarily at 
hearing his name, and looked at him as he entered. He 
greeted the company in an easy, respectful manner, dig- 
nified yet unassuming, shaking hands with several with 
whom he was previously acquainted. He then glanced 
around the rooms, as if in search of some one he had not 
seen. He soon espied Kate, who was seated near Mary, 
and approached her immediately. She returned his greet- 
ing politely, and she was very glad to meet him again ; 
but she was sadly embarrassed. She was conscious that 
the warm tide of life had risen and displayed itself in her 
cheeks, and she was not like herself. Her visible 
awkwardness nonplussed Dr. Stonely ; and Mary, who saw 
and pitied them both, afterwards told Kate that they ap- 
peared more like two enemies during a truce, than friends 
who esteemed each other. 

The doctor’s call was shortened by a message that was 
brought from a patient. He must obey this call, and he 
bade Kate farewell with a constrained manner, and then, 
bowing to the company, hastily departed. Kate was re- 
lieved when the rest of the party followed his example, 
and immediately retired to her own apartment to find fault 
with herself for behaving so miserably, when she wished 
above all things to acquit herself well. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


217 


Mary innocently chid her for her coldness towards the 
doctor. 

“ I was not cold in my manner towards him. Why 
should I have been ? ” 

“ I don’t know of any reason why you should have 
seemed so unlike yourself, but you certainly did,” was 
the reply. 

“ Perhaps,” said Kate, “ if Mr. Fielding had not said 
what he has to me about him, I should not have felt con- 
fused, as I confess I did. This must have affected my 
manner somewhat, but I will try to do better if I have 
another opportunity. I am ashamed of myself.” 

Mary, perceiving that she was giving Kate pain, ceased 
her rallying, and bade her good-night. Kate then retired 
to rest ; but it was long, very long, ere sleep spread its 
mantle over her wearied senses. 

The next morning, at breakfast, she was obliged to pass 
through a trying ordeal, in being rallied and half-scolded 
for her indifference to such a gentleman as Mr. Fielding’s 
friend. Dr. Stonely. 

“ I declare,” said Mr. Fielding, “ I shall begin to 
believe you invulnerable, if you see nothing in him to 
fancy.” 

“ I think him a very noble specimen of humanity,” 
replied Kate. “ He is a perfect gentleman, and I liked 
what I heard of his conversation very much ; but I must 
not be expected to go into rhapsodies about any gentleman, 
— that would not be proper.” 

“ But you can treat one with a trifle less stiffness in 
your manner than you did my favorite,” retorted the 
other. 


10 


218 


KATE FELTON ; 


Kate blushed crimson, — tears filled her eyes ; and Mr. 
Fielding saw that he had gone too far. 

“ Pardon me, Kate,” said he ; “ I did not intend to 
wound your feelings.” 

“ I have nothing to forgive,” said she, and wished she 
dared to add, “ don’t mention this person to me again ; ” 
but she would not venture such an exposure of her 
feelings. 

After breakfast she sought the relief afforded by the 
solitude of her own chamber. She reviewed the scene of 
the past night. Her heart had beat more quickly when 
Dr. Stonely was presented. She had endeavored to con- 
ceal her emotion, and her actions had been misunderstood. 
Then Dr. Stonely had changed since she saw him before. 
He was then in straitened circumstances, now he was en- 
joying a prosperity that was the fruit of his own per- 
severing efforts. Another had not placed him in the 
position he now occupied : his own merit, with the added 
blessing of Heaven, had done this. 

These thoughts were present with Kate, when the 
doctor came forward to greet her. She would fain have 
greeted him with frankness, but she failed. He must 
have thought strange of her. Why should she appear 
so ? It was only an act of courtesy for him to recognize 
her at all. He was a polite man, and she was a foolish 
creature ! 

So said Kate, mentally. She now felt inclined to avoid 
Dr. Stonely, quite as much as she had hitherto to meet 
him ; concluding, hastily, that she must have disgusted 
him by her conduct. A short time after their first meet- 
in Kate and the doctor met again accidentally, — some 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


£19 


would say providentially , they thought. This meeting 
was in a sick room. Kate had been attracted there by 
hearing that sympathy and kindness would be welcomed 
by the inmate, who languished on the couch of suffering, 
a stranger in a strange land. 

Dr. Stonely was there to minister professionally to the 
sufferer’s wants. A sense of the awkwardness of her man- 
ner, on meeting the doctor before, oppressed her mind at 
seeing him again ; yet her feelings were soon diverted 
from herself by the state of the patient she had come to 
visit. This lady was gratified at receiving kindnesses 
from a stranger, upon whom, she said, she could have no 
claim. She had not expected it ; and she wept tears of 
gratitude as she told Dr. Stonely of Kate’s kindness, and 
called his attention to the little luxuries she had brought 
her. 

Kate assured the woman that she had a claim upon the 
benevolence of Christians, that could not with impunity 
be slighted. 

Dr. Stonely ventured the opinion that some were ever 
glad to acknowledge the claims of suffering humanity, 
and he thought the lady present belonged to this class. 
This he said with an appreciating glance at Kate. This 
confused her ; yet she felt not the embarrassment she had 
endured on the previous interview with him. They 
parted, however, without understanding each other better 
than before on one point. Yet Kate had risen in the 
estimation of the doctor unconsciously. 

He saw her as she was : there was no affectation in her 
manner, no efforts to please ; and yet she did please. She 
was noncommittal, Dr. Stonely thought, in her manner 


220 


KATE FELTON ; 


towards himself. He could not feel satisfied in regard to 
her estimation of himself, but he hoped he might not be 
disagreeable to her. He was exceedingly gratified at 
meeting her as he had done on her visit of mercy, and 
trusted an opportunity might in this way be afforded him 
to learn something of her feelings towards himself. 

Kate, when reflecting upon the probability of seeing 
him again in the room of sickness, shrunk from incurring 
the risk. A consciousness of high regard for the gentle- 
man made her fearful of betraying the sentiments she 
strove to hide. 

“ I don’t know as I shall venture to this place again,” 
said she to Mary Winthrop. “ He shall not think that I 
put myself in his way.” 

He will not think so ; why should he ? ” replied Mary. 

“ But he is so distant ! ” was the rejoinder. 

“ And so are you, Kate, or so you were,” said her 
friend. “ I think that Dr. Stonely is a diffident man ; and 
therefore he might feel much pleasure at meeting a person, 
and yet fail to manifest it.” 

“ Perhaps it may be so,” was ^Kate’s abstracted reply. 

She did not, however, absent herself from the sufferer. 
Mary accompanied her, and she went almost daily. Once 
or twice she came in contact with the doctor, yet they 
became no better acquainted. 

Near the time when Kate expected to return to Kose- 
field, Carrie Stonely returned to her home. On the very 
next day after, she called upon Kate, who, as may be 
presumed, received her affectionately, and urged her to 
spend the following day with her. This invitation, being 
seconded by Mrs. Fielding, was gladly accepted. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


221 


Carrie went, and spent a long, pleasant day with. Kate, 
who did every thing in her power to promote her 
pleasure. 

“ I do wish,” said Carrie, as she sat upon the sofa 
beside her friend, her head resting upon Kate’s shoulder, 
“ that I could have your company at home. I need some 
one besides Aunt Abby, although she is very kind to me 
always ; for she is not young, and has forgotten, I do 
believe, how young people feel.” 

“ Your father will find some one, some time, to be a 
pleasant companion for you, I dare say, Carrie,” was the 
embarrassed rejoinder. 

Kate would willingly have changed the subject of dis- 
course, but she could not ; for Carrie, not suspecting her 
feelings, proceeded to ask Kate if she thought her father 
a disagreeable person. 

“ No, Carrie,” said Kate, “ I do not. I think him a 
very pleasant, gentlemanly man.” 

“ I am glad to hear you say this,” responded the other ; 
“ for I was afraid you did not like him.” 

“ You love him very much, don’t you, dear ? ” interro- 
gated her friend. 

“ I do : he is one of the best fathers in all the world.” 

“I can easily believe it, Carrie, and am glad for you,” 
was Kate’s reply. 

During the drive to the steamer, when the ladies were 
leaving New York, Kate again saw Dr. Stonely. He was 
riding in his chaise, and bowed politely to both ladies as 
he passed. Kate returned his salutation with one of her 
own natural smiles. 

Mr. Fielding, who was in the carriage, congratulated 
Kate upon acquitting herself so well. 


222 


KATE FELTON,* 


“ I declare,” said he, “ I am tempted now to forgive 
all your previous neglect of my friend ; for you have cer- 
tainly given him a very encouraging smile this morning.” 

Kate smiled again, but did not reply. 

We will pass over this journey home without descrip- 
tion, as it was very much like other journeys. The re- 
ception that awaited them on their return was a matter of 
pleasure, as usual. The autumn months passed away in 
the enjoyment of home comforts of various kinds. De- 
cember found them preparing for another excursion south. 
The friends in that warm region would not listen to a sug- 
gestion, made by Mrs. Felton, that the coming winter had 
better be spent by all her household at Rosefield. 

His mother, Mr. Felton said, must go to a milder cli- 
mate, for one more season at least. Kate must and should 
accompany her ; and they must take Susan with them, and 
persuade Mary Winthrop to join their party once more. 
Good old Maggie was somewhat disappointed, when Mrs. 
Felton decided to go, but concluded that it might, on the 
whole, be the best thing for her to do. She was left, as 
usual, with the care of the house and premises. The 
house was never shut up. Maggie, with a younger female 
servant, and the hostler, occupied some of the rooms, and 
kept the whole house in order. She was always instructed 
to make herself and those with her as comfortable as pos- 
sible, during the absence of the family. She was known 
to be perfectly trustworthy ; and Mrs. Felton left her with- 
out anxiety in regard to her faithfulness. Her only fear 
was that the dear old soul might be too economical for her 
own comfort. The motto at Mrs. Felton’s mansion had 
ever been, “ Comfort enjoyed, and comfort diffused.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


223 


None under her roof were restrained in any thing short of 
waste. Mrs. Felton acted out the feeling that riches 
would be valueless to her and hers, if they could not ena- 
ble her to contribute to the well-being of her fellow-crea- 
tures. The family bade Maggie and the other servant a 
hopeful good-bye. They performed the journey with 
much comfort to themselves. Mary Winthrop yielded very 
easily to their persuasions to go with them. And alto- 
gether they made as pleasant a party as ever travelled any 
portion of our world ; and their safe arrival was welcomed 
at Groveton before the commencement of the Christmas 
holidays. 


KATE FELTON ; 


224 


CHAPTER XVI. 

“ Earth has no sunnier clime than a love-lighted home.” 

The holidays soon sped away amid the genial atmo- 
sphere of Groveton. Presents were exchanged by the 
different members of the family. The servants were not 
excluded from this annual source of happiness. Many 
were the tokens of affectionate kindness they received from 
the family. Small sums of money, too, were given, to ena- 
ble them to offer little gifts to each other. 

After the festival-season had gone by, it was voted by 
all the household as pleasant a Christmas as they had ever 
enjoyed. Winter was never the season of greatest quiet 
on this plantation. The atmosphere invited to exertion. 
The pleasant sunshine was greatly enjoyed by our friends 
in the open air ; and the milder beams of the moon often 
rested upon them, cheering their pathway, while prome- 
nading the many pleasant walks about the house. Plea- 
sant excursions were made on horseback ; pleasant drives 
were frequently enjoyed ; social conversation enlivened 
nearly all the waking hours, and caused the time to fly 
apace ; visits were made, and company entertained : but 
the sweetest moments known by the loving friends ga- 
thered at Groveton were those when, secluded from all the 
world besides, they interchanged offices and words of affec- 
tion with each other. 

It was a loving circle, — this cluster of hearts at Grove- 
ton. The influence they exerted upon their inferiors was 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


225 


genial and most improving. None upon the premises 
were overlooked. The comfort and well-being of all were 
made a daily care by those who bore the responsibilities of 
this household. 

Ruthy — dear good soul ! — declared, that, if the people 
on every plantation could only be as happy as their folks 
were, it would be a matter of rejoicing. “ Still,” she 
added, “ one ting dey would want, — dey want to be free.” 
True, Ruthy ; love of liberty is a natural instinct of nature 
with mankind. Let whatever may be done to crush it, 
this gprm will never die. Like some other tough plants 
of earth, the more it is trampled upon the more it will 
flourish. 

The slaves on Mr. Felton’s plantation were as happy as 
any people in their condition. They loved their owner, 
for he was ever kind to them ; yet those who were capable 
of reflection knew that a change might come to them sud- 
denly, and they might become the property of a hard- 
natured, bad man. Such men are not uncommon in any 
part of the world ; though the law, in some places, restrains 
from violence more than in others. 

Mr. Felton’s people were aware that other planters pur- 
sued a very different course with their slaves from that 
which he did ; and of this they were only too often re- 
minded. One morning, not long after the holidays closed, 
Ruthy entered the room where the ladies of the household 
were assembled, engaged in their usual morning employ- 
ment. She looked disturbed. 

“ Missus,” said she addressing Mrs. Felton, junior, 
“ Sylvia’s in de kitchen, an’ she’s a takin’ on dreffully 
’cause her darter Meeta is gwine ter be sell’d. I come 
10* 


KATE FELTON ; 




ter tell ye, ladies, ’cause I hoped ye’d comfort her a 
leetle.” 

“ Ask her to come in here,” said her mistress. “ I 
should like to see her.” 

Sylvia was accordingly introduced to all the ladies toge- 
ther. She was a good, respectable looking mulatto wo- 
man. She came with diffidence into the presence of so 
many ladies, to speak of herself ; for she was not in the 
habit of doing so. Now, all the mother was alive in her 
heart, and she gave vent to her distress in an agony of 
tears. 

“ 0 dear Missus ! ” she cried, “ I don’no what ter do. 
Massa’s gwine ter sell Meeta. I heered him a talkin’ to a 
driver ’bout it ; and, cause he said ’t would make a fuss, he 
tell’d the driver ter keep still, an’ not let the people know 
’bout it. He said he’d send me off ter another planta- 
tion, so as not ter have a scene ; for he know’d I make a 
fuss, cause I’se got no children but Meeta now. Ter-mor- 
row I’se gwine ter be sent off, yer see.” 

“ How came you to hear what was said ? ” 

ff I’se standing in de closet, next ter the dinin’ room, 
ye see, an’ they went into the room, and set down ter talk. 
So I jist heered massa say, ‘ Meeta’s a fine gal, an’ she’s 
worth eight or nine hundred dollars, an’ I must have it.’ 
I couldn’t move arter that, yer see ; so I stood still, and 
heered the man ’gree ter give eight hundred cash for me 
last chile. He said how he wanted her for the New Or- 
leans market. Ye knows as well as me what ’tis for a 
young gal ter be selled to go thar. Oh dear ! oh dear ! 
I would ruther she’d die dis ’ere blessed minnit. De good 
Lord knows I would.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


m 


The woman paused to take breath. Kate bade her be 
calm, saying, — 

“ We will not allow your daughter to be sold, if we 
can possibly help it.” 

“ Perhaps it will be well to go immediately over, and 
see Sylvia’s owner at once,” said Kate. “ I will save her 
from this fate, if money can do it.” 

“ It does not seem right to pay a person to keep them 
from doing wrong,” said Mary Winthrop. 

“ It is right,” said Kate, “ when a great amount of good 
is to be accomplished, or misery prevented, by so doing.” 

The young ladies concluded to take a dri've to their 
neighbor’s plantation. They all went together in a co- 
vered carriage. Emma wished to hear whatever might be 
said by Kate, and the gentleman with whom she was de- 
sirous of making some friendly contract in regard to Meeta 
and her poor mother ; Mary Winthrop went for the ride ; 
and Kate took Susan with her in order to show her more 
of the world and its doings than she had previously seen. 
The weather was pleasant ; and, had the little party 
felt sure that their errand would have been successful, the 
ride would have been greatly enjoyed. They hoped, yet 
doubted ; and doubt always prevents enjoyment by bring- 
ing some perplexity in its train. Susan felt greatly inte- 
rested in the welfare of the girl. She had not forgotton 
her own horror at the thought of going with that same 
trader ; and she longed to have Meeta saved, as she had 
been, from his power. 

Mr. Blackson, Meeta’s master, met the ladies on the ve- 
randa of his house, and, after greeting them with much 
politeness, invited them into his parlor. He then hastened 


228 


KATE FELTON ; 


to send a servant to announce the arrival of visitors to his 
lady. 

“ Mr. Blackson, stay a few minutes/’ said Kate. “ I 
wish to see you on some business of importance.” 

“ I will be back in a moment/’ he replied ; and so he 
was. He seated himself in readiness for Kate’s com- 
mands. 

“ Have you a young mulatto girl you would part with ? ” 
she asked. 

“ I have one,” replied he ; “ but there is a trader here 
that wants to buy her. I have not agreed to his price, if I 
can get more than he will pay for her.” 

“ What will he give ? ” 

“ Eight hundred dollars is the most he will give for 
her,” was the rejoinder. 

“ I know of friends who will give more for her than 
that,” answered Kate. 

“ Well, I’m not bound to let this trader have her. If I 
can get fifty dollars more from some one else, this bargain 
with him is nothing.” 

“ I am glad,” said Kate ; “ for I am authorized to pay 
you the other fifty, and take the girl under my care. 
Shall we close the bargain at once ? ” 

“ Why, yes, we may as well, if you can pay the cash 
down.” 

It may be necessary to say that Mary Winthrop and 
Mrs. John Felton contributed towards the purchase of 
Meeta; and both put a handsome sum into Kate’s hand 
at the same time that her mother gave a portion. Kate 
supplied the remainder. She had not expected her friends 
to unite with her in this act of humanity, but was glad 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 229 

they had done so ; for she trusted that now she should be 
able to free Sylvia also. 

When the trader found that a larger sum had been of- 
fered for Meeta, and a different bargain had been made, 
he was disappointed, and not a little angry at the disap- 
pointment. When he learned that the purchaser was a 
New England lady, his rage increased greatly. Its de- 
monstrations knew no bounds. 

“ It is just like these northern hypocrites,” he said, “ to 
take advantage of a fellow in that way. There ain’t one 
on ’em but what likes to have slaves as well as I do, this 
minnit. I’ll swear to it she’d be willing to sell the gal to- 
day, if she could git fifty more’n she give for her, cuss 
her ! I’m a mind to try her. I will do it, I swar I will.” 

Kate paid the sum demanded for Meeta, and, after hav- 
ing all matters connected with the business legally ad- 
justed, took her home. Sylvia’s mind was now at rest. 
She felt, that, if her daughter should be carried home by 
Kate, she would be treated kindly ; and it would be 
a comfort to her to know this, even if she should not 
see her again. Kate did not tell any one that she was de- 
vising a plan to keep the mother and daughter together, 
or near each other. 

Meeta was received at the plantation with great pleasure. 
The slaves demonstrated their joy loudly, as is their wont, 
when they can act without restraint. They were as loud 
in their praises of the ladies as they were in their congra- 
tulations to Meeta on her rescue from a fate rightly 
deemed horrible by these bondmen. Old Kuthy was well- 
nigh overjoyed at being told that Meeta could stay for a 
while in her cabin. 


230 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ ’Pears like Missus Kate be half a angel,” said she. 
“ Next ting, she’ll go ter buyin’ Sylvy, I reckon.” 

“ I hope she’ll do it, if she can,” responded Lucy. “ I 
want ’em ter be togedder, like as we be.” 

The trader did not wish to purchase the mother of Sylvia. 
She would not pay as well, he said, as these young ones do. 
In pursuance of his resolution, he called at Mr. Felton’s 
plantation, and asked to see Kate, who favored him with 
her presence. He very unceremoniously introduced his 
business by saying, — 

“ I ’spose ye wouldn’t mind parting with this gal ye 
bought of Mr. Blackson, if I’d give ye nine hundred for 
her, would ye ? ” 

“ I will not sell her at any price,” was Kate’s decided 
rejoinder. “ Others united with me in purchasing this 
girl, to save her from being taken to a market for the 
worst of purposes, as such young girls often are. We did 
not buy her in order to procure her services as a servant. 
She will be taken to the North, with the party that will 
return home thither, in the spring ; and then her freedom 
will be given her.” 

The trader stared at Kate wonderingly during this 
speech. 

“Then ye wouldn’t take a thousand for her, I sup- 
pose?” 

“ No, certainly not ; and, my friend, I advise you to 
abandon this inhuman business yourself. Be assured, it 
would make you a better and a happier man to do so.” 

“ Must do somethin’ for a livin’, ye see,” replied the 
man. “ If ye think its inhuman for me to buy the nig- 
gers to sell again, you mustn’t blame me rnore’n ye do 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


231 


them that sells ’em to me. I buy slaves of pretty tall 
Christians, sometimes, and I sells ’em agin to the same 
kind er folks. I tell ye, Miss Felton, there’s no sense in 
callin’ my business inhuman, when you good folks let me 
git a livin’, and more too, by it.” 

“ I do not blame you more than others ; I will not de- 
nounce any one. I do not believe in calling people by 
hard names. It is unkind ; and, judging by the effect of 
unkindness upon myself, I think it has a tendency to 
make people reckless. I call the sundering of domestic 
ties, however, inhuman ; without feeling aught but pity 
towards those who practise it.” 

“ Wal, I don’t know how you make anything by buy- 
ing niggers, as you say, to save ’em from bein’ sold.” 

“ I don’t expect to make anything, sir, neither do I 
wish to. It would be a matter of joy to me to be able to 
rescue every slave from bondage.” 

“ Do ye think they’d be better on’t than they be now ? ” 
asked the trader. 

“ In one and a most important sense they would be,” 
was the reply. “ Their owners, too, would be benefited 
by employing free persons to do their work instead of 
slaves ; and the colored people are entitled to the help of a 
Christian country in enabling them to become a nation by 
themselves. This should be done by our government. 
When a whole country is involved in a wrong, as is ours, 
it is its duty to manifest practical repentance, and evince 
this to a world by its acts.” 

“ I don’t believe ye’ll git red of slavery yit awhile in 
this country, and a body’d as well do as the rest do.” 

To this rejoinder of the man, Kate mildly replied, — 


232 


KATE FELTON; 


“ For your own sake, my friend, I hope you will change 
your business. The conduct of others will be no excuse 
for you in the day of final account ; each one must then 
answer for himself.” 

“Ye don’t belong hereabouts, I heered,” said the 
trader. 

“No, my home is in New England,” was Kate’s reply. 

“ Shall ye leave the gal ye bought here when ye go 
home agin ? ” questioned the man. 

“ I expect she will go with me,” answered Kate. “ I 
said so.” 

“ I forgot ye did. She’ll be free, I spose.” 

“ Certainly : if she is able to earn her living in slavery, 
she will be better able to do so as a free woman. She 
will, like all the rest of mankind, need friends and sym- 
pathy ; and, with these cheering influences to help her, she 
will take care of herself.” 

“ Wal, I wanted the gal, and was stark mad at you for 
buying her ; but I bleve you mean to do the right thing 
arter all. But there is one thing I can tell you,” continued 
the trader, “ and that is, ye are not much in the fashion of 
the day. Folks don’t ginerally trouble themselves to help 
other folks out of trouble, sartain not in these ’ere parts.” 

“ I believe you are mistaken,” responded Kate, “ in 
supposing I am almost alone in feeling as I do in regard 
to slavery. There are a goodly company even here at the 
South who agree with me in sentiment, and would gladly 
free their people if they felt free to act without restraint. 
In my opinion there is much opposition to slavery felt at 
the South, if not expressed.” 

“Well,” said this specimen of what a man may be- 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


233 


come, — this trader in the image of his maker, the most 
degrading of vocations, — “ it’s no use to talk. I’ve lost a 
good bargain ; but I must try again, for a feller must live 
any how.” 

When he arose to depart, Kate begged him to do unto 
others as he wished others to do unto him. 

“ Can’t stop to think about that part of a consarn now,” 
said the trader ; “ but I don’t intend to follow this business 
much longer, and I’m ’bleeged to ye for yer advice.” He 
then departed, and was not again heard of at the Felton 
plantation until two years afterwards, when news came 
that himself, with quite a number of slaves whom he was 
driving to a remote southern market, had fallen victims to 
the cholera, and had gone to another world. 

He did not, as he had promised, continue in that 
awfully responsible business “ much longer,” yet all too 
long for himself, and those hapless ones whose destinies 
he had been in a measure the means of shaping for weal 
or woe. 

Some remarks reached the ears of the Feltons that 
were made at leisure by some of their neighbors, upon 
the ultraism of this act of anti-slaveryism, as the purchase 
of Meeta was termed. Little fault, however, was found by 
the better part of their acquaintance, who were content 
that these good friends should be a little odd. It was 
very evident that the Feltons cherished a feeling of affec- 
tionate kindness for all ; and, although they regretted the 
low standard upon which many acted, they did not resort 
to cruel invective as a means to convince them of error. 
It never ruffled the feelings of any member of the house- 


234 


KATE FELTON ; 


hold at the plantation of Mr. Felton to know that they 
were termed ultra. They obtained their nltraism from a 
very ultra book called the “ Bible,” and they were will- 
ing to patiently labor and wait for a change of sentiment 
in regard to their standard. They did not doubt but such 
a change would come, since God, who cannot falsify, has 
encouraged his people to hope for it. 

At the early approach of weather that permitted the 
safe return of Mrs. Felton to the North, the party who 
had increased the cheerfulness and social influence for 
good of this southern home bade their friends adieu, 
without an unconditional promise of spending the next 
cold season with them. They were urged with loving 
earnestness to return again the next season, but they felt 
that duty might keep them at home. 


OK, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


235 


CHAPTER XVII. 


“ Life hath a load 

Which must be carried on, abd safely may ; 

Yet keep those cares without thee : let the heart 

Be God’s alone, and choose the better part.’ Vaughn . 

Maggie, after welcoming the family in her wonted 
manner, with strongly expressed affection, ventured to ask 
if they were going to stop at home after that time. Mrs. 
Felton replied that she expected they should remain there, 
except during short intervals, which they contemplated 
spending in travelling and making short visits at different 
places. “ But why do you ask ? ” inquired that lady. 

“ Because I think you are needed here,” said Maggie. 
“ It made my heart ache to see so many poor creatures 
here last winter, that needed you to do for them. I did 
all I could for all that I knew as ye would have helped, if 
you had been to home ; but I couldn’t begin to say and do 
as you do.” 

“ We will try and do all you wish us to, now, Maggie,” 
remarked Kate. 

This pledge was fulfilled ; and very many little rills of 
comfort flowed from the cherished home at Rosefield into 
the more humble dwellings of those whose circumstances 
were less prosperous than those of many around them. 
’Twas ever thus, at this abode of Christian benevolence, 
where the whole family of man were termed neighbors by 
the inmates. 

This spring was likely to prove an exciting season to 
Mary Winthrop. She had received letters from Mr. 


236 


KATE FELTON ; 


Mar shly containing intelligence of importance to herself. 
He expected to get things in a condition favorable to her 
taking up her residence in his new home early the next 
autumn. She would then see him at Rosefield, prepared 
to take her, in company with the friends who had pro- 
mised to accompany them, to his western garden, as he 
termed his new home. 

Kate assisted Mary’s preparations for her expected nup- 
tials, which, it was understood, were to be celebrated soon 
after the arrival of Mr. Mar shly at Rosefield. It was pain- 
ful, on some accounts, for her to think of parting with this 
friend of her childhood. Still she did not regret that 
Mary was to reside in a new country, where she might 
exert a great influence for good, as she felt confident she 
would ; for Kate had a large heart, as we have before given 
the reader to understand. She embraced a world in her 
benevolent affections. 

All the friends at Rosefield looked forward to this con- 
templated tour with pleasure ; but not one of the party an- 
ticipated it with so much delight as did Susan. She felt a 
lively interest in the well-being of her father’s family ; and 
it was now a long time since they had left Virginia, dur- 
ing which interval they had not been heard from. It was 
not expected that any of them would write themselves, but 
they might possibly have employed an amanuensis, or sent 
a verbal message by some person who was travelling in the 
direction of their former home, who might trouble them- 
selves to forward it to Groveton. 

A trip to New York was considered necessary in order 
to procure the articles necessary to be used in making up 
the trousseau for the wedding. Kate, Mary, and Susan 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


237 


made a pleasant little travelling party on this occasion. 
Susan was now old enough to be brought forward in so- 
ciety ; and her adopted sister improved every opportunity 
for introducing her to those circles in which it would be 
safe for her to mingle, and where, too, she might be bene- 
fited. The journey to the city was unmarked, save by 
one little incident. 

Kate and her young friend Carrie met, as they had done 
on a previous occasion, in the cars in which they rode to 
Albany. Carrie was introduced to Susan. Mary she re- 
cognized with animated pleasure, as well as Kate ; and 
her delight was unbounded at learning that they were go- 
ing to New York. 

“ I am so very glad of your company,” she said, “ that 
I am half beside myself.” 

“ Have you no one with you to protect you on your 
way home ? ” asked Kate. 

“ To be sure I have,” replied Carrie, with a roguish 
smile, which she hid from all but the party that immedi- 
ately surrounded her. Then, in a whisper, she added, — 

“ That sober, steadfast -looking gentleman yonder,” in- 
clining her head, at the moment, towards another part of 
the car, “ has engaged to see me in safety to my father’s. 
He can protect me, but he is intolerably dull. 1 am glad 
I have met you, for now he may be relieved from a duty 
that seems any thing but pleasant to him.” 

“ Do you suppose it is ever irksome to a gentleman to do 
the needful for a lady who needs his care ? ” asked Mary, 
laughing. 

“ I am obliged to believe it is, to some gentlemen,” was 
Carrie’s rejoinder. “Now this gentleman did not like to 


238 


KATE FELTON ; 


say no, when a friend of mine begged the favor of his gal- 
lant attentions for my little self on this trip ; but you’ll 
see that he will be glad enough to get rid of the annoy- 
ance as soon as he finds that he can safely transfer the re- 
sponsibility he has assumed.” 

“ Her friends were amused at these remarks, and at her 
playfulness of manner ; but did not think then that she 
had a right idea of the matter. As time passed, however, 
they were led to think that Carrie was forgotton by her gal- 
lant. He became absorbed in a political controversy, and 
appeared to have neither eyes nor ears for any thing else. 

“ Didn’t I tell you,” said Carrie, “ that he would be 
glad to get rid of me ? Think of his not speaking to me 
but once since he started ! 1 wish I knew whether he had 

forgotten me. But I don’t intend to remind him of my 
whereabouts, or even of my existence.” 

She enlivened the party by her playful sallies until they 
reached Albany ; when her merriment became unbounded 
at seeing her nominal travelling protector leave the car, 
and take a seat in a carriage, which was driven away. 

“ It is well,” said she, “ that I have a check for my bag- 
gage in my pocket. He has not carried that off in his ab- 
sentmindedness. But what a capital joke, to be left so 
unceremoniously, and so quietly too ! I declare I am much 
obliged to his honor for not taking a formal leave of me. 
He is so prosy that I could hardly endure such a farce.” 

Kate felt that she must not take her party to that friend’s 
house where she usually stopped, when in the city, but 
went immediately to a hotel, where they spent the night. 
When they went on board the steamer, on the following 
morning, Carrie looked for her deserting p otector. She 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


2S9 


espied him in a remote part of the boat, and pointed him 
out to her friends. 

“ I wonder if he will think of me to-day,” said she. 

“ Do you hope he will remember you ? ” asked Susan. 

“ I can’t say,” was the reply. “ It will be funny if he 
does, and funny if he does not. I don’t know which 
would be the most comical of the two dilemmas.” 

“ I hope he will remember you, Carrie,” remarked Kate. 
“ It would be almost a disgrace to humanity, if a gentle- 
man should forget a lady altogether.” 

“ I should not care for the odium cast upon human na- 
ture,” said Carrie. “ It would be so ludicrous to have 
him forget me until he arrived in New York.” 

“ He is thinking of you this minute,” remarked Mary 
Winthrop. “ See ! he is looking anxiously for some 
object.” 

Carrie, after hastily glancing at him, turned her head 
abruptly away. 

“ I never can look at him, for I shall laugh outright in 
his face,” said she. “ I wish I could feel vexed with 
him ; and I’ve been trying to, but my muscles keep relax- 
ing at such a rate it is no use to try.” 

Kate had hard work to control her own risibility, as 
the gentleman who had been the subject of remark ap- 
proached Carrie with a perturbed expression of counte- 
nance. She would not perceive his proximity, until she 
was obliged to by hearing herself addressed by him. 

“ Miss Stonely,” said he, “ I regret my carelessness 
in leaving you in the car last night. I owe you an 
apology.” 

Don’t trouble yourself to apologize, Mr. Peterson,” 


240 


KATE FELTON ; 


replied Carrie, struggling to command her mirthfulness. 
“ I have been well cared for since I last spoke with you.” 

“ I became so much interested in discussing a political 
point with a gentleman, that I did not think that I had 
any one under my care, until after I had retired to rest 
last night. Then I remembered my neglect : my confu- 
sion, as you may suppose, was considerable. I did not 
then,” he continued, “ know what to do. It was late to 
seek you, even if I had known where to go, but I did 
not.” 

“ You have found me in pleasant circumstances this 
morning,” said Carrie, hardly able to restrain her mer- 
riment. 

She presented the gentleman to her friends, who, she 
informed him, were going to New York. It was with 
great difficulty that she went through this ceremony at 
all, and did not in a manner to satisfy herself. She 
wished for an opportunity to laugh heartily. 

Mr. Peterson’s awkwardness increased her embarrass- 
ment at length to such a degree that she could no longer 
repress her feelings, but laughed out, in spite of herself, 
until tears ran down her cheeks. 

Mr. Peterson was a little confused on perceiving that 
he was an object of merriment to Carrie, yet he was not 
angry, but joined in her laugh ; and the contagion, which 
had until that moment been concealed among the party, 
now was made visible, and they altogether enjoyed a sea- 
son of innocent mirth at the expense of the poor gentle- 
man’s short memory. 

Kate attempted to apologize for what he might term 
their rudeness ; but he gallantly told her that he was glad 


OR, A TEEP AT REALITIES. 


241 

at tnis time to be laughed at, for he felt that he merited 
something more unpleasant than that at the hands of 
Carrie and her friends. 

“ I would not have laughed, if I could have helped it, 
Mr. Peterson,” said Carrie ; “ but you don’t know how 
very ludicrous it seemed to me yesterday to see you leav- 
ing the car without even looking at poor me.” 

“ Why didn’t you speak to me ? ” asked the gentleman. 

“ Because I had company ; besides, it would have 
spoiled the fun. I wanted to see how long you would 
forget me,” replied she, laughing again at the thought of 
what had presented itself to her mind. 

“ What will your father say, Carrie?” inquired Mr. 
Peterson. 

“ Oh! he will only laugh at it, I know,” answered she ; 
“ how can he do otherwise at any thing so amusing ? be- 
sides, you know, he believes it is healthful to laugh.” 

The gentleman, after expressing his pleasure at knowing 
that his neglected charge had fallen into such good com- 
pany, and that his carelessness had been so readily for- 
given, soon sought society congenial to his political taste, 
leaving Carrie again under the care of her lady friends 
during the remainder of the trip. 

“ Didn’t I tell you,” exclaimed Carrie, mirthfully, “ that 
this gallant gentleman would be glad to get rid of me ? ” 
as, just after they anchored at the pier in New York, she 
saw Mr. Peterson, carpet-bag in hand, waiting for the 
crowd to disperse, so that he might step on shore. “ He 
has not forgotten me this time : he has transferred his 
trust.” 

“ Make him see you, if you can,” said Mary Winthrop, 
“ and ask him to procure you a carriage.” 
n 


242 


KATE FELTON 


“ Us, you mean/ 5 answered Carrie. “ If I can, I mean 
to ask for just a carriage of him. He is such a gallant 
soul, it is a pity he should want an opportunity of display- 
ing his gallantry.” 

Such an opportunity did not occur. At least Carrie 
failed in her attempts to attract the attention of Mr. Peter- 
son. It was no annoyance to the ladies to be left with 
Carrie to care for ; but it was comical to see this develop- 
ment of selfishness in a man and a father. The friends 
took seats together in one of the many carriages offered 
them by their drivers. They were not expected in the 
city at this time ; consequently, no one had met them on 
the steamer. 

“ My father,” said Carrie, “ will be greatly amused, 
when I relate my adventure to him. I do wish you all 
could go home with me ; but you. Miss Felton, most of 
all.” 

“ I thank you,” Kate responded, slightly confused at 
the avowed partiality shown by Carrie. None noticed 
her confusion but Mary, who believed she understood its 
meaning, although she seemed not to observe it. 

“ You must come to Fifth Avenue and see us all,” said 
Kate to Carrie. “ I shall be happy to see you, and I 
know these other friends will too. I am very glad we 
have had your company during our journey, and hope we 
shall always be friends.” 

“ If we are not always friends it will be your fault, 
Miss Felton,” remarked Carrie, in a grave tone, just as 
the carriage stopped before the door of her father’s dwelling. 

Kate had no opportunity of replying to these remarks, 
as Carrie parted from her with only a pleasant good-by. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


243 


Aunt Abby welcomed Carrie at the door, saying that her 
father was absent. 

“ That is nothing strange,” said she, as she smilingly 
nodded a second adieu to her friends in the carriage, which 
was soon driven to Mr. Fielding’s, where a hearty wel- 
come was given to the party it transported thither. 

This visit was an unexpected one; nevertheless, it was 
highly acceptable. These city friends had become ac- 
quainted with Susan while visiting at Rosefield, and 
expressed great pleasure at meeting her again. They were 
ignorant of the exact circumstances of her birth, but had 
an idea that she was in a measure dependent upon Mrs. 
Felton for support. This, however, did not exclude her 
from their circle ; they felt that her presence was an orna- 
ment for which they were thankful. 

Mrs. Fielding’s taste was consulted in regard to the 
many purchases made by Mary and Kate, and her company 
was courted upon their shopping expeditions, which were 
frequent during their limited stay in the city. Ten days, 
at the longest, were all they could devote at that time, to 
business and pleasure, ere they must leave New York. 
Kate and Mary went out nearly every day. Susan gene- 
rally accompanied them, — learning much, by her quick 
perception, of the whys and wherefores of the many objects 
presented to her view. 

Carrie Stonely visited Mrs. Fielding’s, where she had 
become well acquainted ; but, as usual, attached herself to 
Kate very closely, and often went out with the ladies. 
Once or twice Kate saw Dr. Stonely in the street. Once 
he had just emerged from a narrow court, where he had 
been visiting a patient. The ladies were passing the 


241 


KATE FELTON ; 


avenue at the moment. The doctor seemed gratified at 
meeting them all, but Mary declared that there was a 
something in his manner of shaking hands with Kate, that 
seemed to say he was not indifferent towards her. She 
told Kate so, who replied, — 

“ I hope he is not ; ” but this was said in such a playful 
manner, that her friend did not imagine how much her 
feelings were expressed by it. Carrie was with them at 
the time. Mr. Peterson’s forgetfulness was alluded to 
rather humorously, by the doctor, who expressed his 
gratitude and pleasure at the thought of his daughter’s 
agreeable journey ; and all the party joined in being amused 
at the incidents that had attended it. 

After they parted from her father, Carrie told her friends 
that the patient he visited in that humble neighborhood 
was an object of great solicitude to him. Her case, he 
had told Carrie, was critical, and her sufferings aggravated 
by her discontent. “ From the lady’s surroundings, he 
j udged she was poor now, but had seen better days. Father 
says,” continued Carrie, “ that he has been puzzling his 
brain ever since he first saw her, to call to mind the cir- 
cumstances under which he has seen her before ; for he 
is sure he has seen her somewhere. Her pride is a great 
obstacle in the way of her recovery to health, father says ; 
and sometimes he is tempted to wish she had been placed 
under the charge of some other physician.” 

“ Has your father ever mentioned her name to you, 
Carrie ? ” asked Kate. 

“ No : he does not often mention the names of his 
patients, but merely speaks of cases among them.” 

“ I would contrive some way to obtain an interview 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


245 

with this daughter of sorrow, if I were to remain long in 
the city,” remarked Kate. “ Perhaps,” she added, “ it is 
my duty: at any rate, will you go with me, Carrie? 
As you are her physician’s daughter, she may admit you 
more readily than any one else.” 

“ 1 don’t know about that,” responded Carrie ; “ yet I 
am willing to go with you, if you wish to call, at any time 
when you can go.” 

“ Suppose we make an effort to go to-day, after we ac- 
complish what we have to attend to on Broadway,” said 
Kate. “We must contrive to go in such a way that her 
pride shall not be wounded by the call, else we may do 
her an injury instead of a kindness.” 

“ Suppose,” said Carrie, “ we take some nice fruit along 
with us. Father says that is grateful to her, and good for 
her besides.” 

Kate agreed to this proposition, and, as soon as Mary 
could dispense with her services or advice, turned her 
steps, in company with Carrie, to Smith’s Court, while 
Mary went home with Mrs. Fielding and Susan. On 
their way, Kate and Carrie purchased some very nice dried 
fruit, also some oranges and lemons, — the last mentioned 
being ever grateful to the sick. Kate hoped that this 
would secure them a passport to the peevish invalid. She 
felt some trepidation when she knocked gently at the door 
of No. 22 Smith’s Court. 

A pretty little girl admitted the ladies into a small room, 
adjoining which was a bedroom. Here they seated them- 
selves, after Carrie announced herself, at Kate’s suggestion, 
as Dr. Stonely’s daughter, accompanied by a friend. This 
announcement succeeded, as Kate had hoped, in procuring 


246 KATE FELTON ; 

the desired interview. The sufferer felt a regard for her 
physician, as even the most ungrateful are ever inclined 
to do ; for he had been patient and kind towards her, 
during many weeks of fretfulness and complaint. Carrie 
was introduced by Kate, who was for the time her name- 
less friend ; for Kate had caught a glimpse of the sick 
lady, before she entered her bedroom, that influenced her 
to keep back her own name. 

This she told Carrie in a whisper, who was governed by 
the suggestion. The invalid received both Carrie and 
Kate with an air of haughty politeness, that almost con- 
vinced the latter that it was Mrs. Upton who was addressing 
her. “ Yet could it be possible ? ” she mentally asked, and 
was willing to persuade herself that she was mistaken. 
Still, the resemblance was so striking, she could not keep 
the image of Mrs. Upton from her mind. 

The little offering of fruit was received with a dignified 
“ thank you,” which seemed stereotyped. There was 
wanting that lighting-up of the countenance so expressive 
of grateful feeling, when accepting a favor. The lady was 
made to understand that Kate was only a visitor in New 
York. This intelligence was received by her with an in- 
voluntary smile, which was noticed by both Kate and Car- 
rie. The latter was invited to repeat her call, the former was 
wished a pleasant journey home, by the invalid, who 
turned her head uneasily upon the pillow, as the ladies 
approached her bed to take leave of her. The. leave- 
taking was as abrupt as it well could be ; and Kate turned 
from this couch of languishing with a heart yearning to 
do something to soften the woes of this suffering sister. 

“ Would I could do something for this proud woman ! ” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 247 

said she, as soon as she had reached the street. “ I would 
give her my sympathy, but she repels it. I pity her ; and, 
if I stop in this city next fall, on returning from the West, 
I will know more about her, if possible.” 

Kate did not return to Mrs. Fielding’s that afternoon 
until the hour for dinner had arrived. She was interro- 
gated by her host as to the cause of her unusual absence, 
and rallied not a little upon playing truant. 

“ Did you see Dr. Stonely in your wanderings, Kate ? ” 
asked Mr. Fielding. 

“ Certainly,” was the quick rejoinder, “ and his daugh- 
ter too.” 

“ Did you meet the doctor again after we parted ? ” 
asked Mary. 

“ I did not,” was Kate’s reply. “ Carrie and I went as 
soon as we could to Smith’s Court, and called upon the 
invalid he spoke of.” 

“ How were you received ? ” inquired Susan, who had 
heard what Carrie had said about the woman before part- 
ing with Mary and herself. 

“ Not as well as I had hoped. Carrie was treated with 
less distrust than myself ; still she was not warmly wel- 
comed, notwithstanding she is the daughter of the lady’s 
physician. She reminds me strongly of Mrs. Upton, of 
whom you, Mary, have heard me speak.” 

“Mrs. Upton!” said Mrs. Fielding, with emphasis. 
“ Is it possible it can be her ? ” 

“ It may be,” answered her husband. “ Since her hus- 
band’s death, little has been heard of her, or known by 
her former acquaintances. She has experienced a great 
reverse of fortune, and now hides herself from the world.” 


KATE FELTON ; 


248 


“ Then it is her I saw to-day. She must have recog- 
nized me,” said Kate, “ and that perhaps caused her re- 
serve towards me.” 

“ Yours was not a pleasant visit, then ? ” said Mary. 

“ Not exactly,” answered Kate. “ Yet I do not regret 
having made it ; and if I visit this city, as I expect to do, 
next autumn, I will try and see if it is not in my power to 
benefit this poor woman. I don’t love to think that she 
is Mrs. Upton ; still she resembles her in looks and man- 
ner.” 

“ Did yon ask Carrie to inquire the name of this person 
of her father ? ” asked Mr. Fielding. 

Kate replied that she had, and, more, had striven to 
enable Carrie to remember and make the request ; yet she 
was not confident she would do so, because she saw so 
little of her father, and had her attention so much occu- 
pied by other objects. It proved that Kate had judged 
rightly ; for she was obliged to leave the city without 
learning the name she was so much interested to know. 

The business that called Kate and Mary to New York 
was completed, and they performed their journey home- 
ward in less than a fortnight from the time of their leav- 
ing home. It was a matter of regret to Kate that she had 
not been able to see more of Dr. Stonely ; still no one sus- 
pected her of harboring such feelings. The doctor had 
made a short call at the house of her host while Kate was 
in the city, but she was away at the time. He had been 
told of her contemplated journey in September, and of her 
intention to visit New York again on her return. Could 
Kate but have known the pleasure this last little item of 
intelligence afforded him, her heart would have been 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


249 

lightened, and her self-love flattered not a little. She did 
not, however, suspect that she was regarded with special 
interest by the only gentleman whose approbation she had 
ever felt solicitous to gain ; and she went on trying to 
school her heart, as had long been her habit, into an in- 
difference it was impossible for her to feel. 


li* 


250 


KATE FELTON ; 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

“ If any strength we have, it is but ill ; 

But all the good is God’s, both power and will.” Fairy Queen. 

Very early in the month of September, Mr. Marshly 
arrived at Rosefield to claim Mary as his bride. The 
wedding was a pleasant, social affair, rather than a pompous 
festival. The bride chose to have as little parade as pos- 
sible upon the occasion, and her friends were willing she 
should be indulged in this innocent wish. She was mar- 
ried in a church, so that every one who had a desire to 
witness the ceremony might be gratified. She afterwards 
received calls at her home during several hours. 

On the following morning, a wedding party, consisting 
of the bride and bridegroom, Mrs. Felton, Kate, and Su- 
san, started on their tour to the fertile regions of the West. 
They did not, however, go directly to the future home of 
the bride, but visited Niagara, and delighted themselves 
with a view of its soul-inspiring beauty and grandeur. 
Most of the party had beheld this masterpiece of nature’s 
efforts before. To Susan it was a novelty, of which she 
had not formed the faintest idea. The half had not been 
told her, she said, and was answered that it was impossi- 
ble to convey to the mind of any one who had not seen it 
a just conception of the sublime reality. Language had 
ever proved inadequate, and the attempts of artistic skill 
to portray upon canvass the stupendous, soul-moving ex- 
hibition of the power of Him who created it have been 
but feeble. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


251 


It was with reluctance that our party left the place. 
They would fain have lingered, and espied each day some- 
thing new to enrapture the eye in this majestic and mighty 
fall of water. Other places, however, must be visited, 
and they passed on. Other scenes were enjoyed, and that 
right heartily, by these lovers of nature’s pencillings. 

At a season of the year when so much presents itself to 
the traveller in that part of the country through which 
our friends were passing, they could not fail of making a 
pleasant tour. Sympathy on social converse, aside from 
outward objects, would have banished dullness ; and these, 
added to the beauties of nature, to captivate the sense of 
sight, made the hours move as if impelled by magic 
wings. One richly laden field was scarcely passed ere 
another presented itself. Orchards, whose trees were bur- 
dened with the choicest fruit, ornamented the road on 
either side at short distances from each other ; suggesting 
thoughts of the care of our benevolent Father for his 
ungrateful children. As they proceeded westward, and 
the programme continued to unfold, its loveliness in- 
creased. Long stretches of prairie delighted them by its 
beauty of modesty and gorgeousness, blended in the color 
of its flowers ; while the luxuriant growth of grass and 
clover, which was visible even at this late season of the 
year, added charms to the splendor of a landscape which 
made it well-nigh entrancing to a cultivated taste. 

As the party neared the new home of Mr. Marshly, 
they were obliged to exchange the neat and rapidly roll- 
ing vehicles of the railway for private carriages. This 
afforded them an opportunity of taking a leisurely view 
of things, which was greatly enjoyed, notwithstanding the 


KATE FELTON j 


newness of the roads and the many little adventures inte- 
resting only to an emigrant. 

Mr. Marshly watched anxiously to perceive the effect 
produced upon Mary’s spirits by the sight of the many 
things that were new to her. She was beholding for the 
first time some of the roughnesses attendant upon emigra- 
tion. He wondered if she would be surprised, but was 
happy to find that she was regarding each object they met 
with quite a home feeling. She had resolved against 
indulging homesickness before leaving her own home, and 
she was now strongly fortifying each avenue to its 
approach. 

Susan scrutinized every face she saw where there was 
the least prospect of discovering a resemblance to either 
of the members of her own family. It was possible, Mr. 
Marshly told her, that Mr. Wilkins might be in that 
region, although he had never seen him. There were 
settlements not far distant that he had not visited, and it 
would be natural for Mr. Wilkins to seclude himself at 
his own clearing so as not to be much known. 

Mr. Marshly ’s place, however, was reached by the 
party without their having been able to learn any thing of 
Susan’s relatives ; but Kate was hopeful in regard to find- 
ing them, and this feeling was shared by her adopted 
sister. 

Aunt Pattie was upon the premises, prepared to give an 
affectionate welcome to this anxiously looked for bridal 
company. She had seen the carriages approaching the 
house ; and, being confident that they were bringing her 
friends, she ran out to meet them, and hastened her steps 
towards them, as if by so doing she could accelerate the 
speed of their tired horses. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. £58 

Mary regarded the figure of Aunt Pattie, as she ap- 
proached, with pleasant interest. The frank, good-natured, 
comfort-loving expression of this woman’s countenance 
was cheering to an uninterested beholder ; but to one who, 
like Mary, was to be warmed by its sunshine, it was 
charming. The welcome of the bride and her friends 
was more than flattering ; it betokened future happiness 
for Mary. 

Aunt Pattie retraced her steps to the house by the side 
of the carriage, congratulating her friends upon their safe 
arrival, and assuring them of her joy at beholding them. 

“ The sight of you is as good as a cordial,” said the 
good woman. 

The party needed no further proof of the correctness 
of this statement than was given them in the exuberance 
of the spirits she manifested. The hands on the farm 
sympathized with Aunt Pattie in her joy. They loudly 
and heartily welcomed back their employer and friend. 
Every thing had gone on well under the supervision of 
Aunt Pattie. 

“ We have got along nicely,” said she. “ I do believe 
love is the strongest motive that can influence mortals : 
here these people have been without dread of punishment 
of any kind if they failed in duty to their employer in 
his absence, and yet they have been anxious to do every 
thing they thought would please him. f W on’t Mr. 
Marshly be glad to know we’ve done this or that ? ’ has 
been constantly greeting my ears since you left, Charles ; 
and I believe twice the work has been done by the ser- 
vants that would have been done by them in the character 
of slaves.” 


254 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ I do not doubt it at all,” was Mr. Marshly’s reply. 
“ The men seem very different : they are perfectly respect- 
ful towards me ; and their ‘ I will, sir/ sounds much more 
becoming to men born under a free government, than the 
‘ Yes, massa/ of former days.” 

Mary gave her husband an approving smile as she lis- 
tened to this Christian sentiment as it fell from his lips. 

“ Then you believe freemen are more manly than bond- 
men, — at least that they feel so ? ” remarked she. 

“ Indeed I do ; and every day’s experience confirms me 
in the belief that I have done my duty in emancipating 
my slaves. I wish slavery was unknown in this country. 
I hope its withering influence may never paralyze the 
growing greatness of this region, as it has done that of 
other sections of our land. I would doom it to a natural 
death in its own borders, and will vote against its growth 
or extension whenever I can do so.” 

Aunt Pattie endorsed these opinions of her nephew. 
She had thought, in years gone by, that the negroes would 
suffer if freed, because they had been in the habit of look- 
ing to their owners for the supply of their wants ; but 
she had found herself mistaken, at least as far as her 
nephew’s slaves were concerned. They were quite as 
comfortable, she was sure, now that they were free men 
and women, as they had ever been before, and even more 
so. They appeared happy, and labored better than they 
had previously done. She expressed her sentiments with 
great warmth, and was gratified to learn that Mary pre- 
ferred free labor to any other. 

“We shall make a happy little family here in the 
wilderness, I doubt not,” said Aunt Pattie, with much 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


255 


ardor of feeling, ere the friends had been in the house 
fifteen minutes. 

Her loquacity had gained strength by having had no 
motive to call it forth for some time previous, and its accu- 
mulated power was now exerted to confuse her guests. It 
was late in the afternoon of a lovely September day, when 
our bridal party arrived at the new home in “ Fairy Dell,” 
as the ladies termed the beautiful place Mr. Marshly had 
selected for the abode of all most dear to him. 

a That shall be the name of this place,” said that gen- 
tleman ; ei for it is applicable to it in a very sweet sense of 
the term, to myself. You, Mary, can understand this, if 
it is a puzzle to the rest of the company,” he said, with a 
significant glance at his wife. 

A deep blush suffused Mary’s face, while she replied, 
that she should have to look out for the fairy influence 
around that place, and see that it was good. 

There was the germ of much that was beautiful at 
Fairy Dell. Every thing, excepting the grass and some 
noble specimens of woodland growth, was new ; yet all 
around gave fair promise of increasing and enduring beauty. 
The house was a spacious dwelling, two stories in height, 
and it boasted facilities for comfort that few houses in that 
region could at that time. Its rooms were large, hand- 
somely furnished, and well ventilated. The back parlor, 
library, and conservatory were situated upon the south side 
of the Louse ; while the front parlor, sitting and dining 
room fronted the west. A piazza extended around the 
body of the building, over which the work of braiding 
beautiful vines had been commenced. Sweetbrier lent its 
odor to regale the senses, near the beautiful trumpet-flower 


25G 


KATE FELTON ; 


that was ambitiously climbing to display its blossoms to 
the admiring gaze of all who passed that way. One sturdy 
oak stood on the green in front of the house, proudly look- 
ing down upon its younger forest brethren, extending its 
gigantic arms as if to shelter them from danger. A neat 
white fence inclosed a beautiful park in front of the house, 
with which Mary was delighted. 

“ We shall have room to breathe here,” said she, “and 
to run about at our leisure ; it will be pleasant, and I shal 
not often be lonely, if at all.” 

She arranged her own private apartments tastefully, and, 
having put each article of her dress in its proper place, 
declared that she felt very much at home in her new resi- 
dence, an assurance that gave Aunt Pattie great satisfaction. 

Mary, being established as mistress of Fairy Dell, devoted 
herself to the comfort of her friends, whose stay must of 
necessity be short. They made many little excursions 
around the country. Sometimes the party occupied one 
large carriage on a drive ; at others Kate, Susan, and Mr. 
Marshly would ride on horseback, while Mrs. Felton and 
Mary rode in an easy carriage drawn by two horses, which 
was driven by a careful servant. 

One morning near the middle of September, the little 
party went forth in the manner last mentioned, and turned 
in a direction new to them, as they quitted Fairy Dell, and 
striking into a pleasant road, rode along at a moderate pace 
for several hours. Susan, as yet, had not heard from her 
father’s family, and she almost despaired of seeing any of 
them. 

“ Perhaps,” said she to Kate, “ father has not done well, 
or he may be dead. I feel sad when I think of him.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


£57 

“ Cast off this sadness, Susan,” answered her friend. 
“ Remember there is One who knows all things. Go to 
him, and ask him, if consistent, to lead you to your family. 
Believe he is able to do this ; and in his wonder-working 
providence he will do it, if he sees it best. Thus leave 
this care with him, and your heart will be at rest.” 

Susan profited by this advice, and enjoyed her ride, with 
a feeling of child-like confidence in her Father, whose 
care had provided so liberally for every want of man. 

“ Even my taste for the beautiful is gratified by his love 
and power,” she thought ; “ then why, 0 my soul ! should 
I distrust his willingness to gratify my desires, whenever 
they are reasonable and right? I will repose- on the many 
assurances of love he has given me, and be satisfied.” 

At a distance of ten or twelve miles from home, the 
party stopped at a public house, the appearance of which 
promised comfort, if not on a liberal scale. Its proprietor 
was a gentlemanly, pleasant man, in rather feeble health. 
The appearance of his wife corresponded with that of him- 
self. The little parlor into which our friends were ushered 
on their arrival was neatly furnished, and its arrangements 
suggestive of quiet and comfort, which were sought for 
Mrs. Felton by the party, all of whom were aware that 
she needed rest. They had been allured into a rough road 
in pursuit of a lovely prospect ; and the ladies were all 
weary, and in need of repose for a while. 

After they were pleasantly ensconced in the various 
places inviting them to rest which this western parlor 
afforded, and had taken some refreshment, Mr. Marshly 
proposed leaving them for a few hours. 

“ I find,” said that gentleman, “ that we are within six 


258 


KATE FELTON ; 


or eight miles of Elmsdale, where a gentleman resides 
with whom I have some business to transact. If you have 
no objections to being left, I should like to ride over there 
while you are resting here. Peter shall stop here, too. I 
shall not need him.” 

The ladies all consented to this proposal ; and Mr. 
Marshly left them before noon, promising to return in 
season for them all to reach home before night. Near 
the middle of the afternoon, the sun, which had 
during the day shone brightly, became obscured by 
clouds. The air had been sultry for some hours, yet a 
shower had not been expected by any of the party until 
now. Mary felt anxious, because she feared her husband 
might be exposed to the rain, if any came. 

“ I am sorry that I did not urge him to remain here 
with us,” she said. “ I shall never forgive myself for not 
doing so, if any accident befalls him.” 

Looking out of the window at the fast-gathering black- 
ness that was mantling the south-west, she shuddered as 
she beheld the forked lightning playing, ever and anon, 
amid the portentous gloom, and retreated from the window 
to a sofa, upon which she sank, and, leaning her head up- 
on its arm, buried her face in her hands. 

Loud peals of thunder rapidly succeeded each other. 
Each successive peal became louder, and every gleam of 
lightning flashed more and more vividly ; while the rain 
poured in torrents, and gave to the scene without a gloomi- 
ness almost terrible. The wind blew wildly, and its rage 
levelled many a fair floweret of the vast plain around the 
tavern. 

“ Mary,” said Kate, approaching her friend, and sitting 


OP, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


£59 

by her side, tc look up, dear ! Do not give way to fear 
Remember ‘ our Father is at the helm,’ — he will guide us 
all safely through every storm.” 

“ It is for my husband I fear,” said Mary. “ What if 
he should now be out in the open fields in this tempest ? ’’ 

“ Why, then our Father will take care of him. He can 
easily do it. He is never at a loss for means.” 

“ I will try to trust him, and be cheerful,” said Mary. 

She made an effort to “ smile at all her fears ; ” but it 
was not easy nor natural, as she expressed it, to feel at ease, 
when enduring suspense of any kind. 

The storm continued during several hours. The war 
of elements did not cease until near nightfall. The whole 
party looked anxiously for Mr. Marshly until near mid- 
night, but he came not. They at length retired to rest ; 
and Mrs. Felton and Susan soon fell asleep, but Mary 
could not find that solace. Kate, whose sympathy for her 
friend made her also wakeful, was her companion in watch- 
ing during that long- remembered night. 


260 


KATE FELTON ; 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.” 

After Mr. Marshly left the ladies at the hotel, he rode 
for sometime leisurely towards Elmsdale. His mind was 
occupied with what he saw on the way. Rural beauty 
met his gaze on every side ; and, as he seldom wearied in 
admiring the works of nature, he forgot, for a time, that 
the period he could devote to such enjoyment must be 
limited. Rallying at length from his abstraction, he looked 
at his watch ; and, finding the hours were passing more 
rapidly than he had been aware, he spurred his horse into 
a brisk trot, which took him to Elmsdale about an hour 
after noon. 

Having dined, and attended to his business, he started on 
his return ride near the middle of the afternoon. The sun 
was partially hid behind a thin cloud when he started, and 
he congratulated himself upon the prospect of a cooler at- 
mosphere than he had been indulged with on his way 
thither. He was admiring the veiled brightness of the 
world’s great cheering orb, when the sound of distant thun- 
der met his ear. Looking about, in order to discern the ap- 
pearance of the sky, he felt satisfied that it betokened a 
shower. The cloud was not very near, however ; and he 
hoped to be able to reach the place where the ladies were 
awaiting him £re it should rain. 

Mr. Marshly, being an admirer of the sublime in nature, 
allowed himself time to view the grand display that was 
inviting his gaze. A wide-spread, level country was be- 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


261 


fore him, dotted with here and there a hill, upon whose 
sides stood, in stately, and at the moment solemn, majesty, 
large trees, swaying gently to and fro in obedience to the 
breeze, and looking down, as if in thoughtful tenderness, 
upon the tiny shrubs that grew spontaneously at their feet. 
The green grass, ornamented with flowers,* and waved by 
the wind, grew luxuriantly ; also large fields of grain that 
stretched on one side far into the distance. 

Mr. Marshly wished for time to sketch this beautiful 
scenery. It was a vain wish, as he felt on perceiving that 
the wind had suddenly changed, and was now blowing in 
a direction to hasten the threatened storm. He looked in 
every direction for a shelter for himself and horse. The 
animal was frightened at the vivid lightning that was now 
almost constantly blinding both rider and horse. At 
length, in the far distance was seen smoke, curling grace- 
fully in its ascent from a chimney, which gave to our 
horseman promise of a safe retreat from the storm. He 
had already turned from the road he had travelled, when 
he went out into a by-path that he had been informed 
would shorten his homeward ride. 

His bounding steed, needing not now the aid of the 
spur to quicken his pace, dashed wildly forward, and be- 
came unmanageable, as he was suddenly surrounded by a 
gleam of lightning that was accompanied by a tremendous 
peal of thunder, well-nigh stunning in its effect upon both 
man and beast. It was impossible for Mr. Marshly to 
keep his seat on the saddle ; for the affrighted horse reared 
and plunged, and then sped rapidly into a grove near by, 
where the branches of trees soon dislodged him, and he 
was thrown quite a distance upon the ground. He arose 


262 


KATE FELTON ; 


and stood for a moment upon his feet, bewildered with 
what had passed. It was only for a moment, however ; 
for again the thunder rolled even louder than before, the 
lightning’s flash was brighter, and the overtaken traveller 
was prostrated senseless upon the earth. His noble horse 
was dead. The ’same bolt that had lain low his rider had 
killed the spirited creature. 

Providentially, a man, who was hurrying to the house 
to which Mr. Marshly had been attracted by the sight of 
smoke, was in sight of this gentleman when he fell. Hasten- 
ing his footsteps, the stranger was soon at his side. He 
feared, at first, that life was extinct ; but after persevering 
for a short time in the application of cold water, which was 
liberally applied to his head and face, the gentleman gave 
signs of life. He was unconscious of his whereabouts and 
situation while he was raised upon his feet by the strong 
arm of the rough dweller in the western wilds, upon whom 
he was now dependent, and borne forward towards his 
home. 

The rain poured, yea almost streamed, upon the couple 
as they proceeded on their way. The warring of the 
elements became less terrific as the home of the man w r as 
reached, but it did not cease. The thunder still rolled 
through the dark-vaulted heavens, and the sheeted light- 
ning overspread the landscape for several hours. The 
wife of the stranger who rescued Mr. Marshly from death 
had been straining her eyes in search of her husband ever 
since the storm commenced, and ran out to meet him on 
his approach. She assisted in carrying the disabled gen- 
tleman into the house, where he was soon divested of his 
wet clothing. A comfortable bed was prepared in one 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


263 


corner of the one large room on the first floor in this log 
house, upon which Mr. Harshly was laid. A fire, which 
was burning for cooking purposes, was replenished from 
the wood-pile, and soon surrounded by the dripping 
clothes of the unconscious guest in that humble yet 
peaceful abode. 

At his wife’s suggestion, the host tried the effects of 
friction upon the stunned stranger, as he was called by 
the woman ; cold bathing also was resorted to, and every 
other remedy that these humane people could apply. A 
physician was not to be thought of on this occasion. The 
distance of twelve miles, the ceaseless rain, and the fast 
approaching darkness of early nightfall, forbade this 
great comfort. The persevering, kind efforts made by 
these good people to restore Mr. Marshly to consciousness 
were early rewarded by his falling into a heavy sleep. 

The rain by this time had ceased to fall, and soon after 
the stars shone brightly upon the refreshed herbage of 
earth, as if smiling their approval of its freshness and 
beauty. All was tranquil within this dwelling that was 
remote from the elegance and artificial refinement of life. 
The duties of the day being over, the family seated them- 
selves around a table, upon which had been placed the 
work-basket of the wife and mother, some choice books, — 
besides a Bible, that occupied a conspicuous place, and was 
soon opened by the head of the household. 

Just then a knock was heard at the only door of the dwell- 
ing. The woman ran to see that a curtain was closely 
drawn before the bed, so that the sleeper might be screened 
from observation ; while John, the eldest child, opened the 
door, and admitted a middle-aged man, followed by a 
stranger gentleman and one or two young men. 


2G4 


KATE FELTON ; 


44 Good evening, neighbor Dixon,” said our host. 44 I’m 
glad to see yer, though it’s so wet I hardly expected 
you’d come over to-night.” 

44 Couldn’t stop for a little water, anyhow,” answered 
the person addressed, 44 so long as this friend of ours was 
willing to come.” 

So saying, in a hearty manner, he presented the Rev. Mr. 
Ernest to his friends. A hearty greeting and shaking of 
hands followed this introduction, such as cannot be appre- 
ciated except by those who have welcomed to their back- 
woods home a gospel minister. 

44 1 thought,” said Mr. Dixon, 44 that you would like to 
see this gentleman ; besides, I felt as if we could have a 
prayer-meeting, — what say ye to it, neighbor ? ” 

44 1 should like it ’bove all things, if it won’t disturb 
our visitor here, whose’s asleep just now on the bed.” 

44 He sleeps so sound,” said the wife of the man, who 
was none other than Mr. Wilkins, 44 that he would not be 
disturbed ; at least I hope he won’t, for I want to have a 
meeting.” 

It was soon agreed that a meeting should be opened by 
a prayer offered by Mr. Dixon, who was so thoughtful of 
the comfort of the sleeping stranger, that he hardly raised 
his voice to an ordinary pitch. The good man’s example 
was followed by all who spoke or prayed. They sang but 
once, and then gentle notes of melody ascended to heaven, 
while the words of that sweet little hymn commencing, — 

“ Blest be the tie that binds our hearts in kindred love,” 

were feelingly pronounced by each one in that little circle. 
An exhortation was made by the man of God, which was 
encouraging as well as instructive. Refreshing too, it was 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


265 


felt to be, by those who could not statedly enjoy the means 
of grace. 

The sleeper was not forgotten during this hour of prayer. 
Many a petition was presented in his behalf. After an 
hour or more of sleep, Mr. Marshly awoke to conscious- 
ness, and was very much surprised to find himself in bed ; 
but did not speak, for he heard the sound of voices that 
were singing the praises of God. 

“ Where am I ? ” thought he. He made an effort to 
bring the past before his mind. At first everything was 
confused, but he was soon able to recollect being thrown 
from his horse, and endeavoring to arise ; after that all was 
a blank. He pulled aside the curtain, so as to look out 
upon the little group of faithful souls who were at that 
moment assuming the loveliest attitude of devotion. They 
were kneeling before the mercy-seat, and with the eye of 
faith discerning the holy of holies. The beholder was 
awed ; and, when he heard the best of Heaven’s blessings 
supplicated for himself, his heart glowed with gratitude 
towards his heavenly Father for the shelter he was enjoying. 

He lay silently observing the scene before him until the 
little assemblage broke up, and the family were left by 
themselves ; then, throwing aside the curtain, in order to 
make himself seen by them, he exclaimed in feeble accents : 
u Where am 1, and how came I here ? ” 

“ You are with friends,” replied Mr. Wilkins, “ and you 
were brought here by these strong arms of mine. I was n’t 
far off from you when your horse was killed, and you 
thrown to the ground and laid low by the lightning. I 
got to ye soon enough to bring ye to life, and then I toted 
ye home, and that’s the whole story.” 

12 


^G6 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ I thank you, my friend,” began Mr. Marshly, “ for 
having saved my life.” 

“ No need of any thanks, I’m sure,” responded the man. 
“ It would be an ugly dog that could let a fellow-critter lay 
and die, rather than take the trouble to save his life when 
he had a chance to.” 

Mrs. Wilkins now brought forward some nice porridge 
she had carefully prepared against her guest should wake, 
and was delighted to see him swallow a portion of the 
same with apparent relish. 

“ What time of night is it ? ” asked Mr. Marshly. 

After looking at the wooden clock which stood upon a 
shelf in an opposite corner of the room, Mr. Wilkins in- 
formed him that it was past nine o’clock. 

“ I wish I could go on my way to-night,” said Mr. 
Marshly, attempting to rise. 

The effort satisfied him that he must remain quiet, until 
morning at least ; and the friendly people under whose 
roof he had been brought urged him to content himself 
until he was able to travel. Being assured that he needed 
repose ere he could reach his friends, he bade those about 
him good-night, and composed himself to sleep. He rested 
during the night ; and, though weak, he found himself 
refreshed when he awoke in the morning. 

It was early when he opened his eyes upon his rustic 
surroundings, which he scanned with interest for a few 
moments. The scene was new to him ; never before had 
he been in such a place. His thoughts, however, soon 
diverged from his own whereabouts, and dwelt anxiously 
upon the party he had left at the hotel. 

^hat would Mary think had become of him ? was a 


OH, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


267 


question that made him sad, as he mentally asked it. She 
must think something had befallen him, and he endured 
the worst of agony’s suspense. 

Mr. Wilkins broke in upon his reverie by descending 
a flight of rough stairs that led to the loft over his head. 

“ How do you find yourself this fine morning, my 
friend ? ” said he to Mr. Marshly, as he came down and 
approached the bed. 

“ Better,” was the reply, “ but rather weak. If I had 
my horse here, I fear I should not be able to ride him 
home. Is there any one whom I can get to go to Oak 
Clearing to procure me a carriage ?” 

“ Yes, by’m-by,” said his host, as he brought the gen- 
tleman’s clothes, and placed them within his reach. “ I 
wouldn’t git up yet, though,” said he ; “ wait till break- 
fast is ready.” 

Mr. Marshly, feeling little disposition to move, drew his 
curtain, and remained in bed until the preparations for 
breakfast were completed. He then dressed, and went out 
of doors to wash, as was the custom of the household. 

A plain yet comfortable repast was placed in humble 
style upon the rough table. Its want of polish was hid 
by a cloth of snowy whiteness, though it was of coarse 
material ; and altogether the breakfast presented an inviting 
appearance. After Mr. Wilkins had reverently invoked 
the blessing of God upon the food before them, they seated 
themselves around this social board, and ate with cheerful 
hearts. 

While at table, Mr. Wilkins was interrogated by his 
guest in regard to the length of time he had resided in 
that section of the country, its peculiar advantages, and 


263 


KATE FELTON,* 


many other questions called forth by what was around the 
place. The question “ How long have you lived here ? ” 
was answered with manly pride by the owner of the place, — 

“ It is almost three years, sir, since I began to build 
this house ; and a good job it’s been for me.” 

“ Everything about your place betokens thrift,” replied 
the guest, anxious to lead him to give something of his - 
history. 

“ Yes,” said the man. “ I have been blest ever since I 
came here, and afore too for that matter, else I could n’t 
have got out here. You see I used to be a poor critter. 
I’m that now, hut then I used to live in Yirginny ; and, if 
you know any thing about things there, ye know that the 
poor whites in that region are clear down.” 

“ I know something about it,” replied Mr. Marshly. 

“ I have spent some months in Virginia at different times.” 

“ Well, then,” continued his host, “you don’t need to 
be told that the whites there that are poor haven’t much 
chance to live. They are discouraged, and do n’t try 
much to bring themselves up even as far as they might, 
but sink right down, drink whiskey, smoke tobacco, and 
say it’s no use to try to be anybody or do any thing. The 
slaves do all the work; and it isn’t respectable like for 
folks to work that ain’t colored, ye see, any how.” 

“ Whereabouts in Virginia did you live ? ” asked Mr. 
Marshly, who was much interested in what his host was 
relating. 

“ In a place called Groveton,” was the reply. 

t( I should like to hear your story very much,” answered 
the other. 

“ I will tell it ye,” responded the man, “ after John’s 
set off for the place ye spoke on. Oak Clearing, warn’t it ? ” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


209 


“ Yes.” 

“ Breakfast being finished, Mr. Wilkins took a well- 
worn Bible from the shelf, saying to Mr. Marshly, — 

“We won’t lose any time in stopping to worship our 
Father in heaven, I take it. His blessing kinder helps a 
body along all day.” 

He then read the twenty -first psalm, and offered a heart- 
felt, though simple prayer, in which the stranger whom 
God’s providence had introduced to their dwelling was 
affectionately remembered. The simplicity and Christian 
sincerity of the man’s manner increased the interest of his 
guest. 

John was sent to Oak Clearing immediately after the 
little group had attended family worship ; and the plain- 
hearted man seated himself in the doorway, and continued 
the account of himself which he had already commenced. 

“ Ye see,” said he, “ I was a real bad man. I thought 
I might as well give up ever thinking I could be anybody. 
I knowed I was looked down on by all the whites that 
wasn’t jist like me ; and the blacks, too, they felt like the 
folks about ’em, ye see ; and I was always hearing some 
speech or other about ‘the poor white trash,’ as they 
called us. Sometimes we went hungry for days, because we 
couldn’t git work, or catch fish, or shoot game, or do any 
thing ; and then some of us would be tempted to sell our 
own children to the slave-dealers who’d come along and offer 
us money. I was that bad that I struck a bargain myself, 
with one of these fellers, for my oldest child. She was 
good-looking, he said, and he would give me thirty dol- 
lars down for her. The gal didn’t want ter go, and she 
and her mother tuk on dreffully. It made me mad to hear 


270 


KATE FELTON ; 


’em beg and cry so ; for I thought, what is the use on’t ? — 
a body can’t starve for the sake of keeping their family 
’round um. I went out a piece from the little hut we then 
lived in ; and, as soon as I was gone, my daughter Susan, 
who was the one as was going to be sold, ran off with all 
her might through the pine grove there towards Mr. Fel- 
ton’s place. She heard they was good folks, and I ’spose 
she thought they’d hide her away, or something. As soon 
as I’d found she’d gone, I went arter her ; and, when I got 
half-way through the grove, I came upon her where she’d 
been stopped by a beautiful young lady, who, I found out 
afterwards, was sister to Mr. Felton. I told Suse to go 
back, but it warn’t no sort o’ use. I felt drefful strange. 
I was mad, ’shamed, sorry, and every thing else together. 
The lady seemed like an angel to me, — so good ; and 
she spoke so kind to Suke and ter me too, that my mad 
feeling began to go away. She talked considerable ; and 
then she told me that if I’d let her she’d take Suke, and 
give me thirty dollars. She said she’d take care of her, — 
she did not want her for a slave. I was dumfounded, ye 
see. I couldn’t hardly believe her, ’cause I didn’t know 
then any thing about the Bible, and I thought everybody 
looked out for their own good and nothing else.” 

“You have learned that it is otherwise now, I be- 
lieve,” said Mr. Marshly, interrupting his narrative. 

u I hope I have,” answered the man ; “ and it was this 
Christian lady, this Miss Felton, that has been the means 
of bringing about this change. Why, I was nothing but 
a heathen, when I fust saw her. She took Susan, gave 
me victuals to eat and carry home, paid me the money, as 
she had promised, for the girl, — but did not stop when 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


271 


she had done that. She said I must try to make the 
most of myself, and be a man ; and she came to our hut and 
spoke kind words to my wife, and told me how to buy 
things, and peddle round the country little by little ; and so 
I got along. This lady bought my goods to help me, and 
got other folks to. She learnt my wife to read, and did 
all she could to have the children learn ; and they did 
learn some, — so that their mother and they could read 
some considerable afore we come out to this place. 

“ This Miss F elton liked the idea of my coming west ; 
and I worked and saved, and every thing went well with 
me ; for I up and let whiskey alone, and left off being lazy 
and discouraged, and began to believe what this lady said, 
— that I might be somebody, if I only resolved to, and 
thought I could. I got enough to bring us out here, and 
had enough left to get us a small piece of land ; and, as it 
was warm weather, we managed to live sort er decent, and 
not make it cost us much, until I worked, and got so I 
could begin to build this log house. I worked for this 
man who was here last night. This neighbor Dixon, — 
he helped me. He is a good man ; and after a while he 
found out just what I was and had been, and he appeared 
to want to do every thing possible to make it pleasant for 
us. This man, ye see, has the same idee of things that 
Miss Felton has. I told him so, and he says its because 
he loves the same Saviour that she loves, and studies the 
same Bible. True, he is’nt so polished like as she . is ; 
but in one thing they are alike. 

“ Well, ye see he helped me so that I could get the 
house fitted to live in the first winter we was here. He 
was afraid the cold would make us sick, as we hadn’t been 


KATE FELTON ; 


°zvz 


used to it at all ; but somehow we kept great fires, and 
got along with very little sickness. When any of us was 
sick, our neighbors was very good, — particularly Mr. 
Dixon. I had one bad spell, though it was short And, 
it being cold weather then, this good man had time to 
come in and see me ; and he used to come every day, and 
talk about the same matters that Miss Felton had always 
told me concerned me most of any thing. A man came 
along, too, who brought books and tracts, and told the 
same story about religion, and said he wanted me to be a 
Christian, just as the lady and my neighbor had so many 
times, that it set me to thinking. I wondered what good 
it could do them to help me, or have me good. I knowed 
by their way that they wasn’t ’specting any thing from 
me ; so I concluded it was because they wanted me to be 
happy, and if that was the reason they must love me. 
And then I thought and thought about the Saviour’s 
dying to have sinners saved, till I see how wicked I had been 
never to think on’t afore, or thank him, or love him, or 
do any thing good. Then I said to myself, ‘ I will go to 
him now. He says “ Come,” and I will believe him.’ I 
did go to Jesus then, wicked as I was, and asked him to give 
me a heart to love him and do right. I felt sorry for 
what I had always done against him ; but my wife read in 
the Bible that it was the guilty Jesus came to save, that 
he would cast out none who came to him ; and I believed 
th^it meant me, for I felt I had gone to him. My wife 
found a friend in my Saviour soon after this,*and ever since 
then we have taken a great deal of comfort. To be sure, 
we are doing wrong sometimes, and that makes us unhappy 
for a spell, till yre can go to our Saviour again, as we did at 
first, and find forgiveness. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


“ Miss Felton has done every thing for our Susan, and 
has made a real lady of her. A real lady I say ; for 
though she was dressed up smart, and was with nice folks, 
and was lamin’ a great deal, she was not above her poor 
relations, but seemed to love us, and care more for us by 
half than she did when she lived with us there in Grove- 
ton in dirt and rags. I used to think the rich people 
was proud and hateful, but I find they aint. I don’t see 
why poor folks should seem so envious like at them that 
is rich. I hope I never shall have this feeling again, as I 
used to.” 

“ Then you think, my friend, that you have prospered 
more since you began to do right ? ” said Mr. Marshly. 

“ I do. I love now to. go to God, and tell him all my 
feelings, and ask him to help me ; and when I do he always 
does, I believe, for I git along better with every thing. 
I want now to know something about Susan and the Fel- 
tons ; and so I’ve been praying that some way would open 
so that I could git a letter to ’em, and since you got up 
this morning I’ve been thinking perhaps you’d have the 
goodness to write one for me, and take it to some place 
where the post could take it to Groveton.” 

“ I would gladly do a great deal more than that for 
you, but it is not necessary that a letter be written. Miss 
Felton, her mother, and your daughter are now at Oak 
Clearing with my wife, and will doubtless visit you when 
I tell them you are here.” 

“ What a kind heavenly Father we have indeed got ! ” 
exclaimed Mr. Wilkins with emotion. 


12 * 


274 


KATE FELTON 


CHAPTER XX. 

“ God’s purposes will ripen fast.” 

The ladies at the hotel were able to sleep only a few 
moments after the dawn of day. They then arose, en- 
deavoring to believe themselves refreshed by the nap, and 
looked out of the window upon the fertile country before 
them. All nature was smiling, as if grateful for the 
shower of the day previous. 

“ I wish we could see Peter now,” said Kate. 

This wish was hardly expressed, ere the man came in 
sight. Like Mary and Kate, he had - spent a sleepless 
night, and arisen early and gone to see if any thing could 
possibly be learned respecting Mr. Marshly. Kate called 
to him from the window, and he approached near enough 
to converse with her. Mary had previously proposed 
starting early in the carriage for the place Mr. Marshly 
had visited the day before. 

“ Peter,” said Kate, “ can’t you contrive to get us a 
cup of tea and a little refreshment immediately, also have 
the horses harnessed into the carriage, so that we can start 
as soon as possible in search of Mr. Marshly ? ” 

" That’s what I can,” replied he ; and away he went to 
the back part of the house, where he succeeded in awaking 
a young woman who was one of the cooks for the estab- 
lishment. A promise of a present operated as a charm to 
make her forget the unseasonableness of the hour for 
breakfast ; and in a few minutes an inviting meal was 
smoking upon a neat little round table in the dining- 
room. 


OP, A TEEP AT REALITIES. 


275 


Susan in the meantime had dressed, and joined the 
ladies, who were ready for breakfast. She had arisen so 
quietly that Mrs. Felton was not disturbed, and, sympa- 
thizing deeply with the feelings of Mary and Kate, wished 
to accompany them on their early ride. In this she was 
indulged. After partaking of the food set before them, 
and engaging their attendant to be very mindful of the 
wishes of Mrs. Felton whenever she might awake, the 
little party set off with anxious feelings for the place 
where they hoped, but dared not expect, to find the ob- 
ject of their solicitude. The rain that had fallen so 
abundantly had made the roads so muddy that their tra- 
velling was slow. The fertility of the soil made the 
prospect before the travellers delightful ; while, by making 
the roads difficult to pass over, it seemed to invite their 
lingering gaze. 

Our party, however, was in no mood that morning for 
enjoying the loveliness they saw and appreciated. They 
reached the place that Mr. Marshly had left before the 
storm came on. The horses’ heads were turned in a home- 
ward direction ; and, with a feeling of heart-sickness, the 
little company resolved to inquire of all they met con- 
cerning the missing one. They rode leisurely along, not 
desiring to hurry if they might. Having gone a little 
distance they espied a man at work in a field, of whom 
they made inquiry concerning the gentleman they sought. 
The man approached them, and, raising his hat upon one 
side, put his fingers through his hair, saying at the same 
moment, — 

“ You want to know if I’ve seen a gentleman along 
this way ? I see one yisterday jist afore that tempest 
came on. He axed me ter tell him if there was a nearer 


276 


KATE FEI TON ; 


road to Oak Clearing than this, and I told him of that 
one,” pointing to a road then in sight, leading in a differ- 
ent direction. “ He said he would take that road, and he 
thought he could git hum afore the rain. The last 1 saw 
of him he was making his horse trot down that way. 
Maybe this gentleman is some friend of yourn ? ” he said 
inquiringly. 

“ He is, — or we have a friend who came this way yes- 
terday afternoon,” was the reply. 

“ Didn’t git hum last night then ? ” questioned the 
other. 

“ No.” 

“ That’s bad, out in such a tempest. I declare I wish 
I’d knowed about it sooner ; but,” continued this rough 
man of feeling, “ maybe he got so far as neighbor Wil- 
kins’s, — that’s jist off that ere road a mile or so, and may- 
be he’s safe.” 

“ I thank you,” said Kate, observing Mary looked even 
more distressed than ever. “We will hasten along that 
way as fast as possible.” 

Whereupon Peter, who needed no urging to proceed, 
drove on. They had hardly turned into the road pointed 
out by the man, ere they saw a large boy approaching on 
horseback. As he drew near, Peter reined in his horses ; 
and Kate asked him if he had seen a gentleman on horse- 
back riding that way, the day before. 

“ I seen a gentleman, but he wasn’t on horseback when 
I see him ; for his horse was killed by the lightning, and 
father found him lying on the ground jist like dead. But 
he took him up, and fetched him into our place, when he’d 
put water on to him for a long while. He’s better though 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


277 


this morning ; and I’m going to Oak Clearing to fetch a 
carriage for him to ride home in.” 

“ You need not go any farther,” said Kate ; “ but turn 
back, and show us the way to your house.” 

“ What is your father’s name ? ” asked Mary. 

“ Wilkins,” replied he. 

Susan started at hearing this name, and looked earnestly 
at the speaker. 

“ How long have you been out West ? ” she inquired. 

“Only two or three years,” answered the boy. “We 
used to live in Groveton,” he continued ; “ but I am glad 
we came to this part of the country.” 

“ You are contented here, then, I suppose ?” said Susan. 

“ Yes,” was the laconic reply. 

“ Have you a sister named Susan ? ” inquired Kate. 

The youngster opened his eyes very wide, and, looking 
inquiringly at Kate, answered that he had. He then 
asked, — 

“ Do you know any thing about her ? ” 

“ Here she is now,” said Kate, and Susan at the mo- 
ment stretched out her hand to her brother. The youth 
grasped it warmly, for he had an affectionate heart ; and 
his eyes filled with tears, — not tears of sadness, however, 
but such as ooze from the deep fount of sacred, generous 
feeling. 

“ How glad father and mother will be ! ” said the brother 
to his sister ; “ father’s remembered you every day in his 
prayers, and he’s asked God to open a way for us to hear 
from you, and now here you are.” 

Mary’s feelings became calm, after having been assured 
of the safety of her husband ; and the spirits of the party 


278 


KATE FELTON ; 


were enlivened, as they rode onward to the humble abode 
of a family around which many interests clustered. As 
the carriage drew near the dwelling of Mr. Wilkins, it 
was first seen by Mr. Marshly, who sat near the door 
anxiously awaiting its approach. Great was his surprise 
and pleasure, when it stopped before the house, to find his 
wife and her friends had come with it. 

Mr. Wilkins had gone out to work a short distance 
from the house, but was immediately sent for to see his 
daughter and her benefactress. He flew on the wings of 
affection back to his home ; and as he greeted his daughter, 
who came to the door to meet him, with a parental kiss, 
he wept for joy. The satisfaction of Kate and Mr. Wil- 
kins at meeting each other was mutual. The former felt 
she had indeed found the bread she had previously cast 
upon the waters ; while the latter rejoiced, not only upon 
meeting the child whom his past misconduct would have 
ruined but for the interposition of this friend, but because 
her coming at this juncture was an answer to prayer. He 
felt that God had heard his petitions ; and his heart was 
encouraged, for he had received even more than he had 
asked. 

Mr. Marshly’s rescue from peril was a matter of great 
thankfulness to his friends. This meeting under the roof 
of a log-cabin was on this occasion one upon which angels 
might have been well pleased to look. The now Christian 
mother gazed fondly upon a daughter who was in a posi- 
tion of influence and honor. Not many years previous, 
that same child was wretched and degraded, wanting even 
the necessaries of life. What had wrought this change ? 

The mother’s heart answered, — kind words timely 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


279 


spoken ; while a silent prayer was breathed by her that 
many more such words might be spoken to others who 
were erring and degraded. 

Mr. Harshly reminded Kate of the time when he 
sneered at her attempts to reclaim the very persons whose 
Christian hospitality he was now enjoying. 

“ As soon as I discovered the fact that I had been saved 
from death by this friend, my conscience smote me with 
recollections of what I had said to you when you were 
endeavoring to place this very man in a situation to pre- 
serve my life.” 

“ * God’s purposes will ripen fast,’ ” 

said Kate. “ They are unfolding every hour ; and,” she 
continued, — 

“ ‘ Some buds have had a little taste, 

But sweet is now the flower.’ 

The poet, I am sure, would excuse me for altering some 
words in the lines just quoted, — they are thus made so 
applicable to our present circumstances.” 

After resting for a time, and partaking of some refresh- 
ment which Mrs. Wilkins was proud to offer them, the 
company left their hospitable host and hostess, to relieve, 
as soon as possible, the anxiety of Mrs. Felton, whom they 
had left in suspense at the hotel. It was agreed that 
Susan should spend a day or two with her relatives, also 
that Kate should visit the family again to accompany Susan 
to Fairy Dell. 

During their return ride, they conversed upon the inci- 
dents of the past day. A deep impression had been made 
upon the mind of Mr. Marshly by what he had expe- 


280 


KATE FELTON ; 


rienced. He felt grateful for his preservation from death, 
through the kindness of one whom he had once thought 
too degraded by vice to be reformed. He had seen him 
now a Christian, at the head of a well-ordered household, 
and had himself received great kindness at his hands. In 
a moral sense, he had seen the wilderness blossom like the 
rose ; yea, more, he had seen roses bloom where noxious 
weeds had once, overspread the soil. 

“ Never again,” said he, “ will I despair of the power of 
kindness to bring the wanderer from virtue into the right 
path ; and never again will I attempt to excuse myself 
from personal effort in behalf of those whom circumstances 
have made in a measure dependent upon the kindness of 
their more prosperous neighbors. I begin to feel that 
every man is my neighbor, and that I live in a large neigh- 
borhood. The rich cannot do without the poor better than 
the latter class can do without them ; and I am glad that 
there are opportunities presented for the exercise of bene- 
volence. I intend to improve those offered to me better 
than I have heretofore done.” 

With heartfelt gratitude he spoke of the incidents of 
that journey ever after. By them he was taught a lesson 
that he acknowledged made him a wiser and a better man. 

Not many days after the occurrence of the incidents re- 
lated in the preceding pages, Mr. Marshly’s visitors took 
leave of Fairy Dell ; leaving Mary in the enjoyment of 
happiness as perfect as ever falls to the lot of mortals. 
The friends parted with mutual promises to visit each 
other as often as possible, and to write while separated. 
The parting was too hopeful to be a sad one. 

A new field of usefulness was now inviting Mary to 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


281 


labor, and she was encouraged by Kate to attempt and ex- 
pect great things. 

“ I shall be very desirous to know what kind of a pio- 
neer you will make, Mary,” said Kate ; “ for your influ- 
ence and that of your husband must have a visible effect.” 

“ I mean you shall hear good things of me.” was the re- 
ply. 

Kate easily prevailed upon her mother to spend a few 
days in New York, ere they returned home. It was very 
pleasant visiting at their friends the Fieldings’, she said to 
her mother, and also attempted to persuade herself that 
the society of these friends was the principal attraction 
the city possessed for her. Still the image of another 
would ever cross her mental vision, when she thought of 
the place in which he lived. There was yet another rea- 
son why she wished to be in New York for a short period ; 
and this was found in a strong desire to become better ac- 
quainted with the invalid she had once visited there, and 
w T ho had excited her warmest sympathies. 

Their arrival at Fifth Avenue was not altogether unex- 
pected. They were warmly welcomed, and felt them- 
selves at once quite domesticated in the home of these 
much-loved friends. Carrie Stonely visited Kate as soon 
as she was apprised of her being in the city. Her father, 
too, chanced to call upon Mr. Fielding on the very next 
day after his company had arrived. It was not common 
for this medical gentleman to call upon his friends, and 
Mr. Fielding contended that this friendly visit was made 
in order to have an interview with Kate. If such was the 
fact, he failed in his object. Kate was glad to see him 
enter the room where she sat. She endeavored to act 


282 


KATE FELTON ; 


„ without that disagreeable feeling of restraint from which 
she had suffered on previous occasions, but it would not 
be thrown off. Conscious that the eyes of her friends 
were upon her, and being fearful that they would discover 
her secret, she appeared more embarrassed than ever. 
This awkwardness of feeling made her manner towards 
the doctor so reserved that he left with the impression that 
he must be disagreeable to her. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


283 


CHAPTER XXI. 

“ Teach me to feel another’s woe, 

To hide the fault I see ; 

That mercy I to others show, 

That mercy show to me.” Pope . 

Kate recollected, with regret, after Dr. Stonely had 
taken leave, that she had forgotten to make inquiries of 
him concerning the invalid whose name she was anxious 
to learn. On the day after, Carrie called again upon her 
friends, on Fifth Avenue ; and Kate inquired if she had 
asked her father the name of that patient upon whom they 
had called, when she was last in New York. 

“ I must confess that I have never thought of her when 
I have had an opportunity to ask father about her,” replied 
Carrie. 

“ Then you do not feel much interest in this poor wo- 
man,” responded Kate. “ One would have thought that 
you would have been desirous of learning the state of her 
health.” 

“ If she had been a pleasant person, I should have cared 
about her, I dare say,” was the reply ; “ but I do not care 
about disagreeable people. I like to keep a great ways off 
from them. Do not you, Miss Felton ? ” 

i( It is natural for every one to prefer the company of 
those who are lovely and agreeable to the society of those 
of an opposite character. Still, Carrie, we are not always 
to indulge our natural inclinations in this regard ; for duty 
sometimes leads us among persons that are very unamia- 
ble. We could not learn the practice of forbearance, if 
we were always with the good and gentle.” 


284 


KATE FELTON j 


“ I suppose you are right,” answered Carrie ; “ but I 
cannot see why it is your duty to visit this sick stranger, 
and feel interested in her welfare.” 

“ She is my neighbor, Carrie, because she is a child of 
our common Father ; and, more than this, she strongly re- 
sembles a lady that I knew, who once lived in affluence. 
I cannot say it is this same person ; still, I have heard that 
this individual I speak of is now living in adverse circum- 
stances, in some place unknown to her former friends and 
acquaintances. I had hoped to ascertain ere now the name 
of this lady we visited ; but shall not give up seeking her 
again, although a second visit will be to me an awkward 
affair indeed, because she treated me with so much reserve 
on the other occasion.” 

“ Miss Felton, you might have asked father yourself 
about this cross patient, if you had thought of it.” 

This girlish remark embarrassed Kate for a few mo- 
ments. She soon recovered herself, however, and replied 
that it was very stupid in her not to have done so, when 
she had an opportunity. 

“You never were stupid, I am sure, Miss Felton,” was 
Carrie’s earnest reply ; “ but father says you are very re- 
served towards himself.” 

“I have never intended to be reserved towards your 
father, Carrie ; I am sorry he has that impression of me : 
but suppose we now go and visit the lady we have been 
conversing about.” 

“ What ! would you have me go again to see this peevish 
mortal ? ” 

“Yes.” 

Carrie looked earnestly into the face of her friend, as if 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


285 


she would read her thoughts. Kate smiled, and said in a 
gentle tone : — 

“ I wish you to go with me, Carrie dear, because it will 
be of use to you to see every phase of life. It is profitable 
for us all to know as much of the detail of life as possible. 
It is good for us to see humanity in its every grade.” 

“ 1 will go for the sake of being in your society. Miss 
Felton.” 

“I tbank you, Carrie, for such a proof of affection,” 
said Kate ; and the two started at once upon their walk 
to the little court where they had previously seen the lady 
they now sought. 

They soon found her in the same humble dwelling. As 
they stood upon the doorstep, Carrie invqluntarily drew 
behind Kate, who knocked gently for admittance. The 
door was opened by a tall, graceful girl, apparently about 
sixteen years of age. She had been weeping, and traces 
of tears were visible upon her pale and interesting coun 
tenance. 

“ Does a lady reside in this house whom Dr. Stonely 
attended a few weeks since, when she was quite ill ? ” 
asked Kate. 

“ There is a lady living here who was visited by Dr. 
Stonely,” was the mild reply. 

“ I did not learn her name ; but, having seen her once, 
I feel desirous to know more about her health,” said Kate. 
“ I have been absent from the city some little time,” she 
continued, “ but have thought of her often ; and, if it will 
not be deemed by her an intrusion, I would request an 
interview.” 

“ I think,” answered the young lady, “ that you may 
venture to walk in.” 


286 


KATE FELTON ; 


Her voice trembled as she spoke. She then went on to 
say that the person thus sought was her mother, who had 
only a few minutes before remarked that she wished, if she 
was not abandoned of God, that he would send some one 
to care for her now ; “ and you have come.” These last 
words were uttered in an agitated tone ; and the tears, that 
had for a time been driven back, now flowed afresh. Kate 
pressed the young girl’s hand affectionately, and was led 
by her into the same little room that she had been invited 
into before. Carrie followed in silence ; and, the two being 
seated, Kate made some inquiries in relation to the lady, 
of the daughter, in whom she felt greatly interested. 

It was evident that the blight of some great sorrow had 
fallen upon he^ youth. Still, she was lovely, and the 
sweetness of subdued feeling was expressed in her intel- 
ligent countenance. 

In reply to Kate’s kind inquiries, the young lady told 
her that her mother’s health was extremely delicate ; that 
her spirits were depressed, for she was very lonely, having 
no relatives near her. 

“ Has she the means to support her family ? ” asked 
Kate, kindly ; “ or is she anxious in regard to this matter ? ” 

“We have taken sewing to earn our living, since we 
have been in New York,” answered the young girl, in 
tremulous accents; then added, “we once had enough.” 

There was now a short pause in the conversation. Kate 
was desirous of asking the name of this afflicted family, 
yet hesitated. Carrie was becoming greatly interested in 
the girl, who appeared to be about the same age as herself, 
and who was at this moment making a great effort to 
compose her agitated feelings. A feeble voice from an 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


287 


adjoining room called Mina, and the graceful figure of the 
young creature whom Carrie was admiring moved towards 
the door. As she was leaving the room, she said, — 

“ Please excuse me for a few minutes ; ” then, as Kate 
assented, she left them. 

After a few minutes she returned, and asked Kate to go 
to her mother’s room. The lady was lying upon her bed, 
apparently quite ill. Her countenance bore the traces of 
weeping, and expressed pride mingled with great sorrow. 
Kate, as she approached her, extended her hand kindly. 
The lady offered her hand with seeming hesitation of 
manner, and invited Kate to be seated. She sat down, and, 
addressing the invalid in the kindliest tone, said, — 

“ Your daughter told me that probably you would like 
to see me. I called from purely friendly motives to see 
you ; and I wish to be towards you, in this season of trial, 
what I would wish you to be to me, were I in circum- 
stances like those in which you are now placed.” 

The lady was silent for a minute, during which she 
struggled vainly to suppress the emotion she could not 
hide. At length she spoke, and her voice trembled as she 
said, — • 

“ I was not always as you see me now.” 

“ So I thought,” replied Kate soothingly. “ Dr. Stonely 
spoke of your case to me some time ago, and I have felt 
interested in your welfare ever since.” 

“ Did he tell you my name ? ” asked the invalid eagerly. 
“ He did not ; and I have not yet learned it from any 
other source,” said Kate ; thinking perhaps, that, as there 
now seemed to be a suitable opening, she would herself 


288 


KATE FELTON ; 


communicate that piece of intelligence. She was disap- 
pointed, however, for no answer was given her ; and she 
proceeded, — 

“ I presume Dr. Stonely still attends you ? ” 

“ No, he has not been here for some time,” was the re- 

p!y- 

“ Were you well enough to he left,” asked Kate, “at 
the time he withdrew his visits, or did you grow weary of 
him ? ” 

“Neither,” responded the sick lady. “I felt that I 
could not afford to pay him, and therefore dismissed him, 
without telling him the reason.” 

“ Would you like to see him again’ now, if it were not 
for this obstacle ? ” 

“ I should,” said the other ; and tears rolled down her 
cheks as she added, “ I like Dr. Stonely. He has been 
very kind to me, and I am sorry that I am not able to pay 
him for his services.” 

“ Don’t let a thought of that disturb you for a moment,” 
said Kate. “ I know that the doctor would willingly att end 
you, without remuneration ; for he is a truly benevolent 
man, and loves to do good. His daughter is in the next 
room now ; would you like to see her ? ” 

“ No, not just yet. As you appear to feel kindly to- 
wards me, I will tell you something of my history, now 
we are alone.” 

Mina had sat down in the room with Carrie ; and Kate 
was glad of an opportunity to learn something of her who 
had hitherto seemed shrouded in mystery. She drew her 
chair very near the bed, and by kind looks and words en- 
couraged the sufferer to speak freely in regard to herself 
and family. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


289 


“ Once,” said she, “ I should have felt indignant, if any 
one had even hinted the possibility of my becoming poor. 
My husband was wealthy, and I did not doubt but that 
his wealth would always last. Yet, in an unexpected 
hour, it was all lost. I was in Paris at the time ; and up- 
on the death of my husband immediately followed the 
loss of our property. Thus I was left, bereft of riches, in 
a strange land, with only my daughter Mina to lean upon. 
She seemed to feel our afflictions more on my account than 
her own. She is a good girl ; and, had it not been for 
her, I do not think I could have lived until now. I was 
beside myself, for a time, before I left Paris ; and, when I 
came to realize my situation, I found I was poor. Oh, 
that dreadful word ! How could I pronounce it and live ! 
But I was obliged to acknowledge to myself first, and 
afterwards to my child, that I was little better than a 
beggar. I was dependent upon the benevolence of stran- 
gers for means to defray my expenses back to my native 
country. My two youngest children were at a boarding 
school in New England ; but I was obliged to take them 
to this city, and to this miserable tenement, where we have 
lived during the last two years. I took sewing to gain a 
lirelihood, but was unable to accomplish a great deal, as 
my sorrows preyed upon me so that mental anxiety made 
me ill. Most of our best clothing has been sold to pro- 
cure the necessaries of life. Mina sews all that she is able, 
and so do I ; but all we can do is not sufficient to support 
us. Yet the idea of being dependent upon the generosity 
of others is very painful to me.” 

She paused, after uttering these last words, weary with 
13 


290 


KATE FELTON, 


tlie effort she had made, and overcome with the emotion 
she endeavored vainly to hide. 

“ Have you no relatives,” asked Kate, “ to whom you 
can apply in this hour of need ? ” 

“ Hone,” replied the other, mournfully. “ My parents 
are dead, and all my other relatives have long since ceased 
to care for me. They considered me proud and impe- 
rious in my prosperity ; and I would rather starve now than 
let them know my present circumstances.” 

“ I don’t like to hear you say so,” said Kate, mildly. 
“ I fear it is pride that makes you shrink from letting 
them know your misfortunes. Is it that, or are you afraid 
of being repulsed by them, if you tell them the story of 
your sorrows ? ” 

f ‘ They would not treat me kindly, I am sure; but 
would tell me that I deserved all I suffer, for my former 
haughtiness.” And she wept, and hid her face in her 
hands, as she ceased speaking. 

“ Do not distress yourself any more now,” said Kate, 
tenderly. “ You shall find a friend in me ; and, if I mis- 
take not, you will have another in Dr. Stonely. So cheer 
up ! and look above your cares to Him who saith, ‘ Call 
upon me in the day of trouble, and I will answer thee.’ ” 

“ I fear,” said the invalid with a deep-drawn sigh, 

(i that it would be of no use for me to think of God now, 
since I have neglected him all my life long.” 

“ Then that is a strong reason why you should remem- 
ber him now,” was Kate’s answer, which she gave in a 
most affectionate manner ; at the same time handing a 
small gold coin to the lady, who she feared she had 
allowed to converse longer than she ought. The money 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


291 


was received with an expression of gratitude ; and Kate 
took her leave, promising to repeat her call very soon. 

When she entered the apartment where she had left 
Carrie, she found her engaged in conversation with Mina, 
and apparently on familiar terms with her. When Carrie 
left her to accompany her friend, she took Mina kindly by 
the hand, and begged her to think of her as one who felt 
an affectionate interest in her welfare. 

“ I shall not forget you, but shall come again to-mor- 
row ; and now good-by.” 

Tears filled the eyes of Mina as she returned the pres- 
sure of Carrie’s hand ; but she smiled through her tears, 
and Carrie’s heart was made glad by the thought that she 
had afforded comfort to a sorrowing fellow-being. 

“Miss Felton,” said Carrie, as they were walking 
towards home, “ I am glad that we went to that house.” 

“ So am I,” was Kate’s reply. “ I feel almost certain that 
this lady is a Mrs. Upton whom I first met in the cars at 
the same time you and I first saw each other.” 

“ Now I remember,” said Carrie, “ Mina was that little 
girl whom I so wished to speak to, when I felt so lonely, 
before you spoke to me.” 

“ I think she was the very same little girl,” responded 
Kate. 

“ How changed her circumstances ! ” remarked Carrie, 
thoughtfully. 

“ Changed indeed,” answered her friend. 

“ I think,” said Carrie, “ that Mina must be a lovely 
girl, she seems so patient and mild ; but I don’t believe I 
ever can like her mother. She was so proud and dis- 
agreeable when I first saw her, that I can never forget it 
of her ladyship.” 


292 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ Are you quite sure of that, Carrie ? ” asked Kate 
pleasantly. 

“ I believe I am,” replied Carrie. 

“ Even if she should prove to be more agreeable 
now ? ” interrogated her companion. 

“ Do you suppose she can be agreeable,” inquired Car- 
rie, “ when she is so proud ? ” 

“ There is One, my dear girl, who is abundantly able 
to give her a meek and quiet spirit. We must ask him 
to do it, and at the same time seek the same blessing for 
ourselves.” 

“ You are better than I am, Miss Felton ; for you are 
always thinking of doing good to some one,” observed 
Carrie. “ Would I were like you ! ” 

“ I ought to be more like Him who went about doing 
good,” was Kate’s rejoinder. “ I should be happier if I 
were.” 

“ I believe you^are right, Kate,” said Carrie ; “ for I 
never felt any more pleasure than at the moment I found 
I was a comfort to the lady’s daughter whom we have just 
left.” 

“ It is pleasant to hear you say so, my dear Carrie ; for 
I hope you will be encouraged to repeat the same kind 
office you have performed to-day.” 

Carrie did not forget, this time, to speak to her father 
concerning the lady, as on the former occasion she had 
done. She was too deeply interested in the daughter to 
forget the wants of her mother, disagreeable though she 
was. 

“ Father,” said she, as they were sitting together after 
dinner, “ do you remember the lady you attended last 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


293 


summer, who was so peevish and proud, upon whom Miss 
Felton and myself called ? ” 

“ I do,” answered Dr. Stonely ; “ but why do you 
ask ? ” 

“ Because I feel interested to learn her name,” replied 
Carrie. “ Miss Felton requested me to ask you, when 
she visited her at the time she was in the city before, but 
I neglected to do so. To-day I have been to see her 
again with Miss Felton, who thinks this lady is the very 
same person whom we saw in the cars at the time we first 
met her” 

“ Indeed ! ” responded the doctor. “ I have never 
thought of her when I have seen this sick lady, and yet 
it has ever been my impression that I had met with her 
before. I do not know her name ; for I was only asked to 
attend a lady who was ill, and told the name of the street 
and the number of her dwelling, without being informed 
of her name. How is she now, Carrie ? ” 

“ Really ill,” answered she in a tone of commiseration ; 
“ but she told Miss Felton that she requested you to with- 
draw your visits because she had not the means to pay 
you, — though, were it otherwise, she would be glad of 
your advice.” 

“ If that is the case I will call upon her this afternoon,” 
said the doctor. “ I received the impression, at the time 
she dismissed me, that she was dissatisfied with my ser- 
vices. I am glad to learn that I was mistaken.” 

Dr. Stonely, true to the kind impulse of his heart, 
visited Mrs. Upton — for this poor lady was none other than 
herself — that very day. She was surprised and pleased 
at seeing him, for he called in as a friend who felt an 


294 


KATE FELTON; 


interest in her welfare ; and so delicately were his services 
given that one would have thought himself the obliged 
party, rather than the invalid. 

The next day Kate again repeated her visit, and again 
was accompanied by Carrie ; and she was welcomed, too, by 
both mother and daughter. Kate carried some little 
delicacies, for which the lady would not have ventured to 
expend the money given her the day previous ; and it was 
pleasant to Kate to observe that ugly feeling of haughti- 
ness and reserve giving place to sentiments of gratitude. 
Still it was evident that she shrank from the disclosure of 
her name ; and neither Kate nor the doctor would ask her 
to tell them who she was. 

Dr. Stonely and Kate met at the door of this humble 
residence the day that she made her second call. How he 
wished he could ascertain her real sentiments towards him- 
eelf ! and yet he dreaded to know certainly that she was in- 
different towards him. Now, although in a state of sus- 
pense, he could hope that he was regarded favorably. 

Kate reciprocated his feelings. She was fearful of be- 
traying a partiality that she did not love to confess to 
herself ; and this feeling caused her to act towards the 
doctor with more reserve than she manifested towards any 
other person with whom she was acquainted. Carrie’s 
quick perception enabled her to discern this, and it gave 
her pain. 

“ I wish,” she said to Kate, as they left her father at 
Mrs. Upton’s, after he and Kate had exchanged a few 
formal sentences at that lady’s door, “ that you would be 
as sociable with father now, Miss Kate, as you were the 
first time you ever saw him. I thought you liked him 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


295 


then ; but I do not believe you do now. For, if you did, 
you would not seem so towards him.” 

“How is ‘seeming so,’ Carrie? Don’t I treat your 
father with respectful politeness ? I intend to, I am sure ; 
for I respect him very much indeed.” 

“ Yes ; but I don’t like to hear you say that you only 
respect him. It is such a stiff, cold word. Respect is 
not love, and I want you to love him.” 

Kate felt confused, as the thought of her secret feelings 
towards the sweet girl’s father intruded itself upon her. 
Carrie perceived this, and was afraid she had offended her 
friend. She told her so ; but Kate answered her affection- 
ately, and, smiling at her girlish frankness, said, — 

“Carrie, respect is not a cold word, as you call it. All 
true affection is based upon respect. One cannot sincerely 
love another without first respecting them.” 

“ Then I do hope you will love my father some time,” 
answered Carrie. 

Kate smiled, but did not reply. During tea, on that 
evening, Carrie thought her father was unusually silent 
and thoughtful. He asked Carrie if she knew how long 
Miss Felton expected to remain in the city. 

“ She intends stopping two or three weeks, I believe,” 
replied Carrie ; “ and I wish she would come here once, if 
no more than that, before she goes home. Have you ever 
invited her to visit us, father ?” 

“No,” answered her father. “I never have had an 
opportunity as yet ; but, should one present itself, I shall 
endeavor to improve it. Miss Felton seems to feel a deep 
interest in the case of that nameless lady, and in fact she 
is the friend of all who need sympathy and aid. I hope 


296 


KATE FELTON ; 


you will imitate her example, Carrie ; she is a good pat- 
tern for you to follow.” 

“ I wish I could always have her' near me,” replied 
Carrie. a I love her very much indeed, and I think I 
should be better if I was under her influence all the time.” 

Dr. Stonely smiled as Carrie said this, but did not speak, 
and soon after left the house. 

“ I wonder what father is thinking about just now,” said 
Carrie mentally, as he went out. 


OF, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


297 


CHAPTER XXII. 

“ Trust thou in God. He’ll guide thee, 

When arms of flesh shall fail ; 

With every aid provide thee, 

And make his grace prevail.” 

Kate almost shrank from meeting even her mother, 
when she returned from this visit to Mrs. Upton* She 
wished to be alone, yet this feeling could not for hours be 
indulged ; for company had arrived during her absence, and 
she could not excuse herself and retire to her room, lest 
Mr. Fielding should suspect the state of her mind. She 
endeavored to school her heart to calmness, but the effort 
was vain. She accused herself of folly, and struggled 
hard to banish every thought of him of whom it was im- 
possible not to think. 

A cheerfulness she did not feel was preserved by her 
during the evening ; and none, save her ever- watchful 
parent, detected that it was not real. Her mother saw that 
her mind was occupied with other than present objects ; 
and she suspected that she had met with Dr. Stonely, but 
forbore to ask Kate, thinking it best to refrain from mani- 
festing an interest upon the subject that above all others 
interested her the most deeply. She knew that her 
daughter was much pleased with the doctor; and her 
knowledge of human nature had led her to think, from his 
manner, that he was as much interested in Kate. Why 
they were so reserved towards each other she could not 
imagine, and she did not feel willing to interrogate Kate 
upon the subject. 

13 * 


KATE FELTON ; 


898 

After Mrs. Felton and Kate retired to their chamber on 
the night in allusion, Kate related all that had occurred 
during her absence from home ; passing lightly over her 
meeting with Dr. Stonely. Mrs. Felton felt greatly inte- 
rested in the case of the lady who had experienced so great 
a change ; and she expressed a determination to visit her 
before leaving the city. 

“ I cannot but hope she will tell me her name, and I 
cannot but believe that she will yet find that her severe 
trials are blessings in disguise,” said Mrs. Felton. “I 
pray that they may prove so.” 

There was silence for a few minutes, and then she asked 
Kate if she had ever been at Dr. Stonely’s residence. 

“ Why no, mother ! ” exclaimed Kate ; “ why should 
I go thither ? ” 

“ And why should you not call there with Carrie, when 
you are out with her some time ? It would be perfectly 
proper, I am sure,” was her mother’s pleasant reply. 

“ It would seem as though I wished to court the society 
of the doctor,” said Kate ; “ and I would not have him 
think, for the world, that I cared for it.” 

“ It would not be wrong in you to like the company of 
a worthy, intelligent gentleman like him, would it, 
Kate?” 

“ Not morally wrong,” she answered. 

“Nor religiously neither,” added her mother. “Only 
the world might judge harshly ; that is all.” 

“We cannot defy the world’s opinion, mother,” said 
Kate. “ Ought we to attempt doing so, unless in cases 
where conventional rules set at defiance the precepts of 
morality and religion ? ” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


299 


“ Perhaps not,” said Mrs. Felton. “ Yet your calling 
at Dr. Stonely’s would not be a disregard of any rule. 
Why, it would be one of the simplest of acts ! It is only 
yourself that attaches significance to it, Kate.” 

“ But, mother. Dr. Stonely is reserved and distant to- 
wards me.” 

“ Perhaps, daughter, that is all your own fault. I be- 
lieve you are wholly to blame for it yourself. You are 
not social, as it is natural for you to be, with him ; and 
your reserve nonplusses him. He would seem otherwise 
than he does, if you would only allow him to.” 

“ I have been thinking, mother, that I had better not 
run the risk of meeting the doctor again at that house I 
have visited. If you will go in my place, I can still do 
for this poor creature, without going where she lives.” 

“ Oh fie, Kate, my dear child ! You must not think of 
doing such a foolish thing. It would seem strange in you 
to do so. I myself would accuse you of affectation.” 

Kate did not reply to what her mother had said ; and, 
having retired to rest, Mrs. Felton soon after fell asleep. 
Not so Kate. In vain she courted the leaden-winged god. 
He would not visit her eyelids ; and she lay listening to 
the midnight tread of mortals who were hurrying hither 
and thither in the streets to their homes. And, as she 
heard these sounds, she half forgot her own perplexities, 
thinking of the multitudes who, in that bustling city (that 
was, for the time being, her home), were living merely 
votaries to the pleasures of sense. For such she offered a 
heartfelt prayer ; and her spirit became in a measure com- 
posed, and she was enabled, as often before, to cast her 
burdens at the feet of her Saviour. 

Towards morning she slept, and did not awake until she 


300 


KATE FELTON ; 


was aroused by her mother’s telling her she must hasten, 
in order to make her toilet, before the ringing of the bell 
for breakfast. 

Mrs. Felton accompanied Kate and Carrie on their next 
visit to Mrs. Upton. These visits were frequent ; for the 
lady urged them at every call they made to come as often 
as they could, saying that she was greatly comforted by 
seeing them. Mrs. Felton was immediately recognized by 
Mrs. Upton, who appeared embarrassed at the meeting. 
The former, however, endeavored to make her forget the 
past, and divert her thoughts from any thing unpleasant, 
by making kind inquiries concerning her health and that 
of her children. The sick lady was pleased to see them, 
although she was in rather a complaining mood at the 
time. She spoke freely of her trials; and Mrs. Felton 
strove to cheer her by pointing her to that God and 
Saviour who had kindly told her, in his word, to cast all 
her care upon him, assuring her that he cared for her. 

“ If I could only feel this to be true,” said Mrs. Upton, 
(i I should be glad ; but God is a being I cannot see, and 
it is not easy to have faith without seeing its object.” 

“ Can you not see his goodness in any event of your 
life?” asked Mrs. Felton. “Have you no blessings that 
came from his kind hand ? Think, my dear friend.” 

“ I have kind friends, to be sure ; but it has never oc- 
cured to me that our heavenly Father interested himself 
in my affairs, — I mean in little things that occur,” an- 
swered the invalid. 

“ He notices the fall of the sparrow, and his provident 
care clothes the lilies of the valley,” responded Mrs. Fel- 
ton. “ Then why should you doubt his care and faithful- 
ness towards ourselves ? ” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


301 


“ I have never thought much about serious things,” re- 
plied Mrs. Upton. “ I never used to have time ; and, be- 
sides, I considered religion a gloomy theme, suited only 
to those who had no enjoyments of life.” 

“ That is because you have been ignorant of its power 
to gild even the darkest hours of life,” answered Mrs. Fel- 
ton, with a smile, “ as well as to heighten the enjoyment 
of our brightest moments. It does both for those that em- 
brace it ; and it gilds with more effulgent rays the path- 
way of the young, the joyous, and the happy. You have 
mistaken its nature, my friend, as all do who live unmind- 
ful of their Creator, their best and truest friend.” 

Dr. Stonely came in while his patient and Mrs. Felton 
were conversing, and the latter appealed to him to corro- 
borate the truth of what she had said. 

“ Most gladly will I give my testimony in favor of that 
which has upborne my soul amid a pressure of trials such 
as have broken the spirits of many who leaned only on an 
arm of flesh.” 

As Dr. Stonely said this, he looked at Kate, who was 
regarding him with an approving smile ; but, the moment 
she met his gaze, she blushed, and averted her face. The 
conversation soon became general, and Kate did not feel 
the embarrassment she had suffered on former occasions, 
when in the doctor’s presence. When they parted, Mrs. 
Felton invited Dr. Stonely to call at Mr. Fielding’s while 
she was there, telling him that it would be pleasant to her 
to talk over past events with him. 

“ I will do myself the pleasure,” said he ; “ though I 
know not that my call would be agreeable to every one at 
your house.” 


302 


KATE FELTON,* 


“ I don’t think there is one to be found at that dwelling 
who will not welcome you,” replied she. 

“ I hope,” replied he, “ that you are not mistaken in 
your judgment on this point ; but for myself I fear it is 
otherwise.” 

Kate did not hear this last remark, as she was occupied 
at the moment in listening to Mrs. Upton, who, to Kate’s 
great satisfaction, when she took her hand at parting asked 
if she had learned her name. 

“ I have not,” replied Kate ; “ but I’ve been thinking 
you would tell it me all in good time, so I have not asked 
you.” 

“ I ought to have told you before now, but I have not 
had courage to do so. Perhaps pride has kept me silent. 
I have not wished to be known, but since I became ac- 
quainted with you I have felt differently. My name is 
Upton ; and I tell you now because I wish you to tell me 
if you have ever known any one who bore that name 
before.” 

Kate hesitated a moment before she replied. She then 
remarked that she had met with a person of that name a 
few times some years before. 

“ Have you ever thought that individual could be my- 
self ? ” inquired Mrs. Upton. 

“ I have thought, from the first moment I beheld you,” 
said Kate, “ that you resembled that lady.” 

“ And still,” remarked the other quickly, “you did not 
say so out of regard to my feelings ? ” 

" The only reason why I did not claim your acquain- 
tance,” responded Kate, “ was because I felt that you 
shrank from being known.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES, 


303 


“ You j u dg e cl rightly, and acted generously ; but do 
you think Dr. Stonely ever thinks that he saw me 
before ? ” 

“ I believe he imagines he has seen a countenance some- 
where that resembles your’s very strongly, yet he is igno- 
rant of your name.” 

“ It has been unkind in me, I know, to keep him in 
ignorance of it while he has so generously attended me ; 
but I have not had courage to tell him.” 

“ Shall I inform him of it,” asked Kate, “ or do you 
prefer telling him yourself ? ” 

“ I would like you should make him acquainted with 
my name, and learn at the same time where he thinks he 
has seen me. I know that I have met with him before I 
saw him here ; and well do I remember the time, and my 
feelings towards him.” 

Kate remembered too, full well ; but she did not say so. 
Her mother was waiting for her, and she took her leave 
of Mrs. Upton, for whom she felt an increased interest 
each time she saw her. 

As the trio walked home together, Kate related what 
Mrs. Upton had told her, and expressed a wish to know 
if Dr. Stonely remembered having seen her in the cars at 
the time alluded to. 

“ We shall see him at our present home soon,” replied 
Mrs. Felton. 

“ How do you know that, mother ? ” inquired Kate. 

“ He told me he would come, though he thinks it 
doubtful if all there like his society,” answered the other. 

“ I wonder who dislikes it,” remarked Kate earnestly. 

“ No one, I believe,” was Mrs. Felton’s pleasant re- 
joinder. 


304 


KATE FELTON ; 


Carrie scrutinized the countenance of her friend during 
this conversation, and fancied she saw in its expression 
something better than indifference, when her father was 
spoken of. 

“ I do so wish,” said she mentally, “ that Miss Felton 
and father could be partial to each other ; but it’s no use 
speaking out my wishes. Even if I could make a match 
it would not amount to much, for match-makers are not 
often prosperous ; so I can do nothing but try to content 
myself with what may be. Oh, dear ! I don’t know how 
to have matters go on so.” 

“ Carrie,” said Kate, as she observed her musing mood, 
“ can I have the benefit of your thoughts, or are they 
sacred to yourself.” 

“ I hope I may dare tell them at some time ; at present 
they would, I fear, frighten you if you knew them.” 

“ I am not easily frightened, Carrie ; still I shall not 
venture to intrude upon the sanctity of your private feel- 
ings. I shall miss you very much when I go home.” 

“ And I, too, shall miss you very much indeed. Miss 
Kate ; and I wish that your home was here,” replied 
Carrie. 

By this time the party had arrived at Mr. Fielding’s, 
and Carrie readily accepted an invitation to spend the 
remainder of the day there with her friends. In the 
evening Dr. Stonely called, partly to accompany his 
daughter home, whom he expected was with Kate, but 
more than that to have an interview if possible with her 
friends. It was easier for both to talk on this occasion, 
because there was a subject of mutual interest to be dis- 
cussed. Mrs. Felton introduced this topic soon after the 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


305 


doctor came in, by telling him what Kate had related of 
Mrs. Upton. Kate then asked him if he remembered 
having seen her, and if so where they had met. 

“ I cannot now recall the circumstances under which I 
have seen her countenance, but I know that I have seen it 
somewhere before being called to visit her ; and the im- 
pression made upon my mind by the rencontre was not 
pleasant.” 

“ I think I can enlighten you upon the subject,” said 
Kate. 

“ Indeed,” answered the doctor : “ please do, then ; for I 
shall be glad to have my memory refreshed in regard to 
this impression.” 

“Do you remember the first time you ever saw my 
mother and myself ? ” asked she. 

“ I do,” he said in a low tone, at the same time drawing 
his chair near her. “ My memory has not been treacher- 
ous there.” 

Kate was not unmindful of these words, and they 
sounded pleasant to her ; so, with an unaffected smile, she 
said, — 

“ You met Mrs. Upton and her eldest daughter in the 
cars, when you took that trip to Albany. We were all 
together then.” 

“ I recollect her having been there now,” replied the 
doctor, “ though I had not thought of it for years.” 

Kate then reminded him of the conversation that was 
held by them during their interview while in the cars. 

“ I remember,” be said, <c that this lady at that time 
seemed very haughty, and looked down upon me, because 
my appearance did not denote wealth. I felt this ; and I 


306 


KATE FELTON ; 


felt, too, the difference between your mother, yourself, and 
the proud mortal near us. My spirits were depressed 
when I entered the cars ; I felt the need of sympathy. 
Your kindness of manner towards my little Carrie and 
myself won my highest regard at that time, Miss Felton; 
and, if you will not deem it rudeness for me to affirm the 
fact, I will assure you that time has not changed my 
feelings.” 

Kate neither looked up nor replied to this declaration ; 
and Dr. Stonely was for a few moments fearful that he had 
been too bold in thus addressing her. His fears, however, 
began to subside, as Kate soon controlled the mingled 
emotions that agitated her heart, and attempted to thank 
him for the honor he had conferred upon her ; in which 
attempt she was interrupted by the approach of Mrs. 
Fielding, who came to ask Kate to sing. 

In vain did she endeavor to excuse herself ; not any 
excuse was accepted. 

“ You need not think, Kate,” said her friend, playfully, 
“ that I will allow you to sit moping here. You and Dr. 
Stonely are altogether too dull.” 

“You are mistaken,” said the doctor. 

No, I am not ; so come along, Kate,” she continued. 

Kate, finding it useless to refuse any longer, rose. 

Dr. Stonely arose at the same moment, and offered to 
attend her to the piano. His offer was accepted with evi- 
dent satisfaction ; while Mrs. Fielding, highly delighted 
at seeing these two friends on such good terms, walked 
beside Kate, and, as she seated herself at the instrument, 
whispered a word of approval, that caused the cheek of 
Kate to glow with crimson. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


307 


At the request of all present, she played and sang 
several lively airs and popular pieces ; after which she 
paused and leaned her head upon her hand a moment, 
when Dr. Stonely, who had stood behind her while she 
had played, asked if she could sing the piece entitled, 
“ Meet me in Heaven.” 

She nodded an affirmative, and immediately commenced 
playing that plaintive, but sweet air, accompanying the 
music with her voice. She sang and played with much 
feeling. Her performance was much applauded by all the 
company, and several voices urged her to repeat it. Kate 
would have declined doing so, had not Dr. Stonely re- 
quested, that, if not too weary, she would oblige her friends 
by performing that beautiful piece again. 

<f And do you like it so well? ” she asked, playfully. 

(i I do indeed,” was the rejoinder. 

Not waiting to be urged further, she complied with his 
request; while each one present listened with charmed 
attention. When Kate arose from the piano, the doctor 
conducted her to a seat a little apart from the rest of the 
company, and seated himself beside her. He had hardly 
sat down, when the door-bell rang ; and a servant, a mo- 
ment after, brought a message for Dr. Stonely, requesting 
his immediate attendance upon an urgent case in another 
part of the city. 

“ I may hope to meet with you again, Miss Felton, may 
I not ? ” said he, as he hastily arose to obey the at that 
time unwelcome summons. 

r< Certainly you may,” was Kate’s instant reply. 

The doctor said no more, but, bowing politely, took his 
leave. Mr. Fielding hastened toward the seat Dr. Stonely 


308 


KATE FELTON , 


had left vacant ; but Kate, perceiving his intention, and 
knowing full well that he would rally her upon the atten- 
tion his friend had shown her with little mercy, arose, and, 
without seeming to notice his approach, took refuge from 
his raillery by joining a group of elderly ladies that was 
at the moment surrounding her mother. 

On looking around after she had seated herself, her eyes 
met those of Mr. Fielding, who laughed and shook his 
finger significantly at her, and then turned away. Kate 
knew too well then that that gentleman was reserving his 
fund of humor for her benefit the next morning at break- 
fast. She shrank from the idea of receiving it on that 
occasion, because Carrie was to spend the night with her, 
and would then be present to hear all that might be said. 
Carrie was as much delighted at her father’s departure, as 
her friend and parent were disappointed. 

“Do you know,” said the lively girl, drawing near 
Kate as she spoke in a low tone, “ that I am greatly 
obliged to that patient, whoever it, is, for needing my 
father to-night, so that I can stay with you, Miss Kate ? ” 

“ I like to have you with me, Carrie,” answered Kate : 
“but I cannot say that I am pleased with having your 
father called away so abruptly ; for I had hoped he would 
have been able to spend the evening with us.” 

“With yourself, you had better say,” remarked Mrs. 
Fielding, roguishly. That lady happened to be near at 
that moment, and, hearing what Kate had said, could not 
forego the privilege of teazing her a little. 

“ I declare, my dear Kate,” she went on, “ it is too bad 
to depend upon such uncertain company as that of a phy- 
sician. I should not like one for a companion for life, 
should you ? ” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


309 


“ Not having tried the experiment,” replied Kate, “ I 
do not know ; perhaps I might like what you could not, 
as I am rather eccentric in some respects.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Mrs. Fielding, gaily, “ you will com- 
mence experiments in that way at some time not far dis- 
tant. I am sure I see the prospect of such a thing.” 

“ It may be so,” answered Kate, rather drily. 

Carrie, who had heard this playful conversation, did not 
exactly understand its bearing ; and, being ignorant of what 
had passed between Kate and her father, she inquired in 
the simplicity of her heart if there was any reason why 
the society of a doctor was not as desirable as that of any 
other person. 

“ On some accounts,” replied Kate, fi it is more so. One 
has so little of it, in the first place, that it is worth more ; 
and then, as a general thing, physicians are intelligent, 
intellectual men, that most people like to converse with.” 

“ Do you like doctors. Miss Kate ? ” asked Carrie. 

“ I like many that l have been acquainted with, but not 
all,” was Kate’s rejoinder. 

“ I hope my father is among the number you approve,” 
said the affectionate child, at the same time putting her 
arm around her friend’s waist ; who, drawing her very near 
to herself, remarked in a tender tone, — 

“ He is, Carrie.” 

Kate, as she had anticipated, was rallied considerably 
by her host the next morning : goodnaturedly he spoke, 
it is true ; but unwittingly he touched upon facts that 
brought the color to Kate’s cheeks, and filled her eyes with 
tears, as he amused himself at her expense. Carrie saw 
that her dear Miss Kate could not act like herself, and 


810 


KATE FELTON; 


she pitied her ; at the same time she told Mr. Fielding 
that she should inform her father of his naughtiness. 

“ If you do, Carrie,” he retorted, “ just tell me what your 
father says to it in reply.” 

“ As you seem so very willing to have me tell him,” 
said she, laughing, “ I don’t believe I had best do so, and 
1 think I will not ; but I am sure my father would not 
teaze Miss Felton as much, if she was his guest.” 

“ I wish, Carrie,” said Mrs. Fielding, “ that Miss Felton 
may be his guest before many years.” 

“ That’s not a bad wish, my dear,” said her husband. 

“ I think it is a very, very good wish,” said Carrie. “ I’ve 
wished so a great many times ; but I should not be willing 
to have her go away ever, if she should once come to stay 
with us.” 

“ I don’t believe you would, dear,” replied Mrs. Fild- 
ing. “ We will keep on wishing,” continued this lady, 
ts and perhaps some day we shall have what we desire.” 

Dr. Stonely and Kate continued to meet at Mrs. Up- 
ton’s. His knowledge of that lady’s name and history 
increased the interest he had previously felt in her welfare. 
It is true he sometimes thought of her haughty bearing 
towards himself when they first met ; but he remembered 
this only for a moment, and that passing thought inspired 
his heart with gratitude to that kind Father who had blest 
his efforts to overcome the obstacles that had sometimes 
well-nigh disheartened him. He was grateful that he 
was brought thus far on the road to usefulness and hap- 
piness. He regretted the misfortunes that had befallen 
his once wealthy patient ; yet he ascribed nothing to chance, 
but all to infinite benevolence. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


311 


“ It is God who putteth down one and exalteth 
another,” he often said to his daughter, as she spoke of the 
change that had taken place in regard to Mina Upton and 
herself, since they first met. She was then a poor little 
lonely child ; while Mina was the petted child of a wealthy, 
extravagant, aristocratic mother. Now Mina was contend- 
ing with poverty, while she was surrounded with friends 
and affluence. 

“ Remember, my dear daughter,” her father said to her 
one day, after returning from a visit to these afflicted 
ones, “ that it is easy in God to change our condition 
in life. You are above want to-day, besides being beloved 
and respected. For this you should feel grateful to our 
heavenly Father, while you daily ask for a continuance 
of these blessings. Think how soon your condition might 
be changed. ‘ Riches take to themselves wings and fly 
away ; ’ and God can easily withdraw from us his grace, 
so that we may do that which shall rob us of friends.” 

“ I do often think of these things, father,” answered Car- 
rie ; “ and I pity Mina Upton, because she has lost her 
money : but she is gentle and good, and I love her. I wish 
to do more than I have done, father : I want to invite her 
to see me.” 

“ Do so by all means, Carrie, if you wish to. I am very 
willing. Mina is a lovely child, and, under the influence 
of her good friend Miss Felton, is constantly improving. 
By-the-by, this lady has not done you any hurt, Carrie.” 

“ I know that she has not,” was Carrie’s quick reply. 
“ I wish I could be with her always ; still I do not know 
what would be best.” 

“ We none of us know that, my dear Carrie,” answered 


312 


KATE FELTON ; 


her father, as he imprinted upon her cheek a paternal 
kiss, and went out. 

Carrie thought her father seemed in better spirits than 
he had for a long time ; and, from what she had heard at 
Mr. Fielding’s, she suspected there was beginning to be a 
pleasant understanding between Miss Felton and her 
almost idolized father ; but she forbore to speak upon the 
subject to any one. 


OR, A FEET AT REALITIES. 


SIS 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

“ Thou art the star that guides me 
Along life’s troubled sea ; 

Whatever ill betides me, 

This heart shall turn to thee.” 

The time had nearly passed that had been devoted to 
the stay of Mrs. Felton and Kate in New York. It was 
a matter of great regret, however, to most interested. 
Kate hated to confess, even to herself, that she was unwill- 
ing to return home ; much more did she shrink from 
having her mother know the true state of her feelings. 
Susan, too, wished their stay might be prolonged, — 
not to mention Dr. Stonely, Carrie, Mrs. Upton, Mina, 
and the Fieldings. These last mentioned were very 
urgent to have another week, if no more, added to their 
visit. Kate said it should be as her mother wished ; and, 
though that lady would for her own sake have chosen the 
quiet of her own dear home to the confusion of that great 
city, she yielded to the solicitations of her host and his 
lady, to which Carrie Stonely’s were united, and consented 
to remain a few days longer. Susan had not been much 
with Kate, except in the presence of others, during her 
stay in New York. Her friends had seen her the object 
of admiration daily, and Mrs. Fielding had courted her 
company whenever Kate went out on visits of sympathy 
and kindness to Mrs. Upton. Susan remembered the Mrs. 
Upton she had seen in Virginia, and had expressed a wish 
to see the lady Kate was befriending ; still, she had been 


314 


KATE FELTON ; 


engaged whenever her friend had called upon her, and as 
yet had not seen her. 

After Mrs. Felton had decided to prolong thebfstay for 
awhile, Susan one evening knocked at the door of Kate’s 
room, to which her friend had gone immediately after tea. 
Kate had retired to read and compose her thoughts, pre- 
paratory to mingling with company that was expected on 
that night. She was wishing she might be long ’ me, 
when Susan’s gentle rap interrupted her musings. On 
opening the door, she was greeted with an affectionate 
smile by Susan, who asked if she could have a private in- 
terview with her for a few minutes. 

“Yes, certainly,” was Kate’s unselfish answer. 

Her own wishes, as was her wont, were bade to wait, 
while another’s were gratified. 

“ Kate,” said Susan, “ I have for some time been 
desirous of speaking with you upon the subject of Mr. 
Blake’s attentions to me, yet have not had courage. I 
thought, too, our stay here was about at an end ; but now 
I feel that I need your advice.” 

“ Are his attentions disagreeable to you, Susan ? ” asked 
Kate, as the blushing girl paused and turned her face from 
the gaze of her friend. 

“ No, indeed, they are not, but far enough from it,” 
answered Susan. “ What troubles me is the thought that 
he knows nothing of my parentage ; of course he considers 
me his equal.” 

“Are you not his equal, Susan?” asked her friend, 
smiling. 

“Not in rank of parentage. What do you think he 
would say and do, if he should learn the truth respecting 
me?” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


315 


“ I don’t know, my dear girl,” responded Kate ; “ but I 
believe vould test his real character to be informed on 
the sub.ect.” 

“ I wish he might be told, and still I dread to have him 
know that my father is a poor-born white Southerner,” 
said Susan sadly. 

“ If Mr. Blake loves you, Susan,” answered Kate, “ the 
kn r ledge of the fact will not change his feelings ; but, 
if it is only your position in life he regards, you cannot 
too soon learn the truth, however unwelcome.” 

“ I know all this ; and yet,” and she hesitated, “ I can- 
not bear the thought of being lowered in his esteem.” 

“ That is because you are attached to him, my dear girl. 
I hope he will prove worthy of your affection ; but tell 
me, Susan, has Mr. Blake told you plainly that he wished 
you to become his wife ? ” 

“ Yes, some days since ; and I did not scruple to con- 
fess that I regarded him with a feeling of preference that 
I felt for none other. But I told him that there were ob- 
stacles in the way of our union, and I dare not promise, 
even with the consent of my friends, to be his.” 

“ Then this is the reason you have shrank from his 
attentions of late,” remarked Kate. ei Did you expect to 
alienate your affections from him by so doing, or were you 
intending to wean him from your society ? ” 

“ Neither, my more than sister,” said the affectionate 
girl, laying her head upon the neck of her friend. “ I 
am perplexed, and know not what to do.” 

Kate kissed her fondly. 

“ I am glad you confide in me, my dear,” said this 
friend. “ I hope you will soon be relieved from your 


316 


KATE FELTON ; 


present perplexity. 1 think you had better acquaint Mr. 
Blake with your history. The sooner you do so, the 
sooner your suspense will be ended.” 

“ But,” said Susan, “ if the certainty is painful as I 
fear, how can I ever endure it ? ” 

“ God will strengthen you for the conflict, my dear, 
dear girl. His grace is sufficient for every emergency, 
and you have his pledge that if you ask you will receive. 
Entreat him to grant you submission to his most perfect 
will, though he sees fit to try you in the furnace of afflic- 
tion you so much fear. He is able, and can do this.” 

“ Pray for me, Kate, my dear friend.” 

“ Let us now kneel together before the mercy-seat of 
our heavenly Eather,” said Kate ; and together they knelt 
while the latter poured out her soul in simple, earnest 
prayer for their mutual wants, with a feeling of child-like 
confidence in the wisdom, love, and goodness of a Being 
who holds all hearts in his hand, and controls the destiny 
of mortals. When they arose from their kneeling posture, 
Susan kissed her friend, and thanked her for her love and 
care. She then washed the traces of weeping from her 
face, and went down stairs with Kate. Their entrance to 
the drawing-room was greeted with exclamations of sur- 
prise at their late appearance. 

Mr. Blake and Dr. Stonely were both present, and the 
latter playfully told Kate that he had been suspicious of 
her absenting herself to avoid meeting him. 

“ Had you any ground for such a suspicion ? ” asked 
Kate in a serious tone. 

“ I once thought that you shunned my society,” an- 
swered he, in that tone which is ever expressive of affec- 
tion, and yet undefinable. 


OR, A PREP AT REALITIES. SIT 

For a moment Kate felt embarrassed ; but, on finding 
this remark was unheard by all but herself, she smilingly 
replied, — 

“ You were mistaken then, doctor.” 

“ I am happy to learn my mistake,” said he ; “ and I 
would be happier still to know, if I might, that you would 
be satisfied with my company and care during life.” 

Kate was taken somewhat by surprise at this declara- 
tion. It seemed sudden, yet after a moment’s reflection 
she knew it was not. She had known the doctor during 
years, although their acquaintance had not been intimate. 
She well knew, too, the state of her feelings towards him ; 
and, after a brief silence on the part of each, she replied 
unaffectedly, — 

“ You may be happier, then, my friend.” 

The doctor’s heart was too full to allow him to speak 
for an instant. He took the hand of Kate, and, pressing 
it affectionately, led her towards her mother, who was at 
the same time surrounded by several of the party. It 
was a moment of happiness to Kate, such as she had 
sometimes pictured in her imagination, but did not dare 
to believe would ever be hers. 

Carrie came in late in the evening. She had been out 
with some friends, who wished her to call with them to 
Mr. Fielding’s before she returned home. She did not 
expect to find her father there, and was delighted when 
she saw him sitting upon a sofa beside Kate, engaged in 
conversation with her and her mother, who sat near them. 
She approached them with a smile, and Kate moved in 
order to make room for Carrie beside her father. 

“ I don’t wish to separate you two dear friends of 


318 


KATE FELTON ; 


mine/’ said she in an almost whisper. “ I hope I may 
never do such a thing,” she continued in a still lower 
tone. 

“ I think,” replied her father, “ there is not much dan- 
ger, while your attachment to us both is as great as it 
now is.” 

Carrie’s only answer to this remark was a grateful smile. 
Her father was not summoned to attend a patient during 
that evening. This was a matter of rejoicing to his 
daughter, and surely not of regret to Kate, or any of the 
company, all of whom highly valued his society. 

Mrs. Fielding congratulated him upon the circumstance. 
<( Still,” she said playfully, “ I don’t know that you would 
like to rest every evening, — should you, doctor ? ” 

“ It would not be unpleasant to me to do so,” he 
replied. “ Why should I not like it, think you, Mrs. 
Fielding?” 

“ I only thought it might not be quite as profitable 
when one is growing rich,” replied the lady playfully. 

Dr. Stonely regarded her with an amused expression 
for a few moments, and then said, — 

“ I did not think you considered me so mercenary in 
my feelings. Some of the pleasantest hours of my life 
have been those spent in laboring without expectation of 
ever receiving compensation.” 

(i Perhaps that is often true ; and yet doctors love money 
as well as most men,” retorted Mrs. Fielding, wishing to 
draw out her medical friend as much as possible. 

“ Some physicians love to acquire riches even more 
than men ordinarily do,” remarked Dr. Stonely ; “ yet, to 
the honor of the profession be it spoken, that taken as a 
class they are not selfish, covetous men.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


319 


“ But don’t familiarity with scenes and cases of suffer- 
ing make many doctors hard-hearted ? ” asked Mrs. Field- 
ing ; and then, without waiting for a reply, continued, “ I 
know this is true in one particular case at least, and I have 
sometimes thought this one heart was made of granite.” 

She paused, quite out of breath, but in a moment after 
said in a subdued tone, — 

“ I hope this one hard heart is growing softer now.” 

A few of the company understood the drift of these re- 
marks ; and all were amused at her playful manner. 
Even the doctor himself, the object of her good-natured 
raillery, was quite too happy to be annoyed by trifles. He 
believed that Mrs. Fielding would rejoice to know that 
her friend Kate had acknowledged her regard for him ; 
and he wished she was even then advised of the fact, but 
this might not be. With hearts full of those deep and 
tenderly sacred emotions which none experience but once 
during life, both Kate and Dr. Stonely acted in such a 
manner that none of the company suspected what had 
passed between them. 

Carrie saw that a brighter smile beamed upon the face 
of her loved Kate ; and that her father seemed more like 
himself than he had for a long time ; and thought more 
than she dared express. 

Susan was too much occupied with her own troubles to 
notice her friend particularly ; while Mrs. Felton’s sympa- 
thies were all with that poor girl, and she could scarcely 
refrain from speaking to her in the fulness of her affec- 
tionate heart, to inquire why she was so thoughtful amid 
a cheerful circle. This kind lady, however, forebore, and 
contented herself with a mental promise that she would 


320 


KATE FELTON ; 


learn, if possible, the cause of her anxiety before she slept 
that night. 

Susan had resolved to acquaint Mr. Blake with all the 
circumstances connected with her life, before leaving the 
chamber of her benefactress. She mentally prayed, even 
while descending the stairs, for courage to do so ; still, 
when she met the gentleman, and was treated by him with 
that respectful tenderness which ever characterized his 
manner towards her, her courage began to fail. 

“ How can I,” thought she, “ put such a comfort from 
me as his society by my own act ? and yet I must not be 
unjust to him by deceiving him in regard to my relatives. 
That would illy requite his love.” 

Mr. Blake endeavored to dispel the shade of sadness 
that brooded over her handsome countenance ; and once 
during the evening, as he found an opportunity to speak to 
her unheard by others, he implored her to tell him the 
cause of her disquietude. The tears flowed in an instant 
as he made this request. She could not keep them back, 
although she struggled hard to do so. He regarded her 
with an expression of sorrow, which she could not bear. 
She averted her face, and told him he should know all, if 
he only remained that night until after the rest of the 
party had left. 

“ If I cannot tell you myself,” said she, “ Miss Felton 
will say for me what I wish you to hear.” 

This was all she dare trust herself to say, for her heart 
was very full ; and Mr. Blake was obliged to refrain from 
saying more to Susan on a subject that evidently gave her 
pain. 

What could she wish to communicate to him ? It puz- 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


32 


zled him to conjecture. He endeavored to appear at ease 
before the company ; still, his mind was tortured by vari- 
ous imaginings. He would not, he could not, for one 
instant entertain the thought that Susan had aught that 
was disgraceful to divulge of herself. He could not be- 
lieve, either, that any friend would object to her marriage 
with himself ; but, that there was something of a serious 
nature for him to be informed of, he judged from the 
evident distress of her who had become to him the dearest 
object on earth ; and he longed for the moment to arrive 
when he should know the worst. 

The evening seemed long indeed to Mr. Blake, though 
otherwise to Susan ; for she thought that perhaps the 
moments then flying might be the last she should ever 
spend with him who was becoming dearer than ever to her 
heart, as she thought of their probable parting. 

Time however, that silent, independent traveller, moved 
on, regardless alike of the wishes of all. The guests de- 
parted ; and at an hour that could not be called late in the 
London of America, where she was, Susan found herself 
and Mr. Blake left by themselves in the drawing-room. 

“ Now, Susan,” said he, approaching, and taking her 
hand as he sat down beside her, “ tell me all that per- 
plexes you.” 

“ I wish I could,” she answered ; “ but I cannot. I 
will, if you please, call Miss Felton, and we will get 
through this by me dreaded relation together.” 

“ If you wish Miss Felton to take part in our conver- 
sation, call her by all means ; only do not shrink from 
letting me know any thing that interests you. Bemember 
that what concerns yourself concerns me also. 

14 * 


322 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ May it be ever thus!” said Susan mentally, as she 
went to the room of her friend. 

Kate had not retired, and very willingly accompanied . 
Susan back to the drawing-room. She felt not in the least 
reluctant to lay before Mr. Blake the cause of her young 
friend’s distress. When Susan and her friend returned to 
the room she had left, Mr. Blake was walking with an ab- 
stracted air, and did not at first notice their presence. They 
sat down upon a sofa, near which he was passing at the 
moment, and then he stopped before them. Kate looked 
into his sober face, and smiled. 

“Miss Felton,” he said, “I presume you are aware of 
my attachment to Susan.” 

“ I am, sir,” responded Kate. 

“ Do you object to her becoming my companion for life ? ” 

“ I do not, Mr. Blake ; but have felt gratified at the 
thought of her reciprocating your feelings towards her.” 

“ Then why does she feel unwilling to have me visit 
B-osefield, and tell me that there are obstacles in the way 
of our union ? Your mother, I am sure, does not frown 
upon my attentions to her favorite.” 

“ True, my mother does not disapprove of your parti- 
ality to Susan, Mr. Blake ; and I will now tell you what 
obstacles oppose your union with our dear young friend. 
Perhaps you may consider them insurmountable,” added 
Kate, with a smile ; “ yet it may be you will think they 
can be overcome.” 

Mr. Blake, gaining courage from the manner in which 
Kate spoke, eagerly asked her to tell him at once, and 
relieve his mind. 

“ Suppose I perplex you more by informing you, what 
then?” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


323 


“ Why, I must bear it ; that is all I can do.” 

“ Well then,” said Kate, “suppose that I tell you that 
you have become attached to a young lady who was born 
of poor parents ; that this dear friend of yours has nothing 
to boast in regard to her parentage ? All that constitutes 
her worth is concentrated in herself alone.” 

Kate looked at Mr. Blake as she said this, and he gave 
her an incredulous smile. She then glanced at Susan, and 
smiled herself. Susan did not perceive this, however ; for 
she was gazing steadfastly upon the carpet. There was a 
short pause ; at length Mr. Blake broke the silence. 

“ Have you nothing more to communicate. Miss Felton ? ” 

“ Nothing, sir ; I have told you what Susan wished, yet 
dreaded you should know.” 

“Not quite all, Kate,” said Susan timidly. “You 
have not told him that my parents were poor southern 
whites, or how degraded they once were.” 

“ Poor southern whites,” repeated Mr. Blake, as he 
seated himself by Susan, and took her hand. “ So this is 
what you dreaded to have me know,” continued he. “ Did 
you suppose this knowledge would change my feelings 
towards you ? ” 

“ I thought it might give you pain to know that I was 
nobody, and yet you had thought of making me yours,” 
said Susan. 

Mr. Blake laughed heartily at this. 

“ My dear girl,” said he, “ it is for the qualities of your 
mind and heart that I love and value you. Your position 
has nothing to do with my attachment. Whatever your 
parentage and childhood might have been, I care not. 
These influences have not injured you. Had your parents 


324 


KATE FELTON ; 


even belonged to that wretched locality, the Five Points, 
it would have mattered naught with me, as long as you 
were uncontaminated by its polluting influence. So just 
dismiss this subject from your mind, and never allow it to 
trouble you again.” 

“ Let me give you my whole history first,” said Susan ; 
“ it would be a comfort to me now to have you know all.” 

“ Do so, then,” replied Mr. Blake ; “ by all means.” 

Susan then related all she remembered of her early 
childhood, her first acquaintance with Kate, and all this 
dear friend had done for her. Kate then told him of their 
visit to the West, and their pleasant interview with Mr. 
Wilkins and his family ; describing their present mode of 
living, and placing their present character before his view. 

Mr. Blake listened to all this with a countenance beaming 
with satisfaction. When Kate had concluded, he said, — 

“ I am and always shall be under great obligations to 
you. Miss Felton, for giving me so good a wife. I feel 
that, under God, I owe my present happiness to yourself.” 

“ I have simply done as I would that others should do 
by me,” answered Kate ; u and I feel that humility and 
gratitude become me before my heavenly Father, who has 
graciously smiled upon my efforts to do good. To him 
alone is gratitude due. I wish to say one word in relation 
to Susan before I leave you to-night,” she added ; “ and 
that is, that perhaps it will not be best to acquaint the 
world with her history. It is well for him who is to be- 
come her husband to know it, but not others. All will 
not view the subject alike ; and it is not necessary that the 
idle curiosity of any should be indulged.” 

“It certainly is not,” replied Mr. Blake ; “and I hope 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


325 


Susan will be satisfied with having told me the circum- 
stances connected with her life. These need not be com- 
mon property ; still, I would not feel disgraced by their 
being known.” 

Kate now bade these friends good-night, and left them 
with a heart buoyant with happiness, yet overflowing with 
gratitude to Him who had done for her even more than she 
had ever ventured to ask. Her childlike confidence in 
his tender, faithful care and love was strengthened ; and 
she fell asleep on that night with her heart filled with joy, 
such as the selfish and God-forgetting never know. 


326 


KATE FELTON 


CHAPTER XX1Y. 

“ There are moments in life that can ne’er be forgot, 

Which brighten and brighten as time steals away : 

They give a new charm to the happiest lot, 

And they shine on the gloom of the loveliest day.” 

Mrs. Felton retired to rest, on the evening she had de- 
sired an interview with Susan, perfectly satisfied that Kate, 
whom she knew had been requested to join Mr. Blake and 
her 'protege below, would learn what she had so much de- 
sired to be informed of. She fell asleep before her daugh- 
ter returned to her chamber ; and slept so soundly that 
she scarcely realized her having retired, until she awoke 
at an early hour on the following morning. 

Mrs. Felton perceived that her daughter was sleeping, 
and forbore to speak. Still she was almost impatient to do 
so ; and when, after the lapse of some fifteen minutes, 
Kate opened her eyes and bade her mother good-morning, 
that lady, after hastily returning the salutation, immedi- 
ately inquired respecting the interview of the night pre- 
vious. 

“ Hid you learn the exact state of affairs in regard to 
our dear girl, Kate ? ” she asked. 

“ I did, mother,” was Kate’s cheerful reply. 

“ Inferring from your tone, daughter, I judge the sha 
dow has flitted by that has of late darkened Susan’s mind. 
Is it so ? ” 

“ Yes, mother,” responded Kate ; “ and the sun of pros- 
perity at its meridian seems at this hour to be illuminating 
her prospects.” 


OB, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


327 


“ What could have weighed so heavily upon the dear 
child’s mind, do you think ? It is very evident something 
has perplexed her.” 

“ She has been very much troubled, of late, because 
Mr. Blake did not know her parentage was low. She de- 
sired him to be informed of her history ; and yet, poor 
thing! she feared that a knowledge of the circumstances 
connected with it would change his feelings towards her- 
self.” 

“ Susan sought counsel of me,” continued Kate ; “ and I 
advised her to tell him at once, and abide the conse- 
quences. Upon trial, she found herself inadequate to the 
task, and last night, as you know, requested me to do it 
for her.” 

“No, Kate : I did not know, until now, that Susan de- 
sired you to go down to state facts. I conjectured that it 
was to listen to something that Mr. Blake wished to say to 
you.” 

“ Do you not think, mother, that it was well for him to 
know every thing of interest relating to Susan, before she 
consented to be his for life ? ” 

“ Certainly I do. I am very glad he knows all now. If 
he loves Susan as one ought to love a wife, he will love 
her independent of her parentage.” 

“ He does, mother. I am sure of that. You would 
have admired him, had you seen him when I told him 
who Susan really was.” 

“ I hope his relatives will not frown upon the sensitive 
girl when they learn that she is an adopted child,” said 
Mrs. Felton. 

" I trust that they will not,” replied Kate. u They never 


328 


KATE FELTON ; 


need know that her parents once belonged to that despised 
and degraded class known as poor southern whites. It 
will be enough that they are informed of the present posi- 
tion and whereabouts of her family. Of that I am sure 
they need not be ashamed.” 

“ So am I,” answered her mother. 

A gentle knock at the door told them that she who had 
been the theme of conversation sought admittance. As 
Kate opened the door, Susan bade her good-morning, 
while a bright smile played upon her handsome features. 
She approached Mrs. Felton, and, kissing her affection- 
ately, exclaimed, — 

“Oh, I feel almost too happy! I cannot express my 
feelings as I wish. Only think ! Mr. Blake knows all that 
is degrading about me, and he does not mind it ; at least 
he does not love me less for having been once a poor ne- 
glected child.” 

“ Had Mr. Blake received the intelligence communicated 
to him last night in a different spirit, I should have felt 
surprised,” remarked Mrs. Felton. “Besides, I should 
have been unwilling to have entrusted your happiness to 
his keeping.” 

“ He is just the noble, generous being we have ever 
thought him,” said Kate. “I presume he will never 
allude to the subject we discussed last evening in a man- 
ner that can possibly wound your feelings. I rejoice most 
sincerely, Susan, in your present happiness and future 
prospects.” 

“So do I,” said Mrs. Felton. “But, Kate, how is it 
with your own affairs ? I thought something pleasant 
must have occurred last evening. Your countenance told 
me a pleasant story.” 


OB, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


329 

“ It must have done so, mother, if it was a true index 
to my heart ; for that was light. I think I laid myself 
down to rest last night feeling happier than ever before.” 

“ I suppose I hardly need ask if Dr. Stonely and your- 
self have now a pleasant understanding,” said her mother. 

“ Hardly,” said Kate, with a smile and becoming blush. 

“ So I may expect to lose both my dear girls at once, 
may I ? ” 

“ No, mother, you are not to lose me,” responded Kate. 
“ I shall never leave you alone ; I could not be happy 
away from you.” 

At that moment the bell announced that breakfast was 
ready ; and Mrs. Felton, with her eyes brimful of tears, 
kissed her daughter affectionately as they left the chamber 
together, and sought the breakfast-room. 

“ What smiling faces ! ” exclaimed Mr. Fielding, as he 
looked about him, after having implored a blessing upon 
the repast to which the family had sat down. “ There 
are two kinds of sunshine here this morning. I wonder 
what it is that has driven the clouds away from the sky 
of these ladies. Do you know anything that makes them 
peculiarly happy, Mrs. Felton ? ” inquired he of that 
lady. 

“ I can think of various reasons why they should be 
happy,” replied Mrs. Felton. 

“ But is there not one greater than all the others ? I 
suspect as much, and did last night. Now do be candid, 
Kate, and own that you and Dr. Stonely are ” — 

“ The best of good friends,” interrupted Kate. 

“ Friends for life, too, I presume,” responded the other. 

({ I hope so, certainly,” was the playful rejoinder. 


330 


KATE FELTON; 


“ Bat now, in sober earnest, I wish you to answer this 
question,” said Mrs. Fielding : “ Is not Dr. Stonely more 
to you than a common friend ? ” 

“ I cannot say that he is not,” answered Kate, “ ^either 
do I wish to say that he is.” 

“ You are a good, frank -hearted girl,” said Mr. Field- 
ing to Kate, “ worth a half-a-dozen of such as pretend to 
be shocked at the idea of matrimony, until after the mar- 
riage ceremony has been performed. You are just the 
girl for me, Kate.” 

“ No, no ! ” said Susan, laughing. “ You mean just 
the girl for the doctor. 1 think they are exactly suited 
to each other. I am rejoiced to learn that at length there 
exists a favorable understanding between those long-oppos- 
ing parties.” 

“ Take care,” said Kate, “ how you say e at length.’ 
How do you know we have not understood each other 
during all our acquaintance ? ” 

“ If I don’t know, certainly I can conjecture ; and my 
conjectures are often correct. I think they are in this 
instance.” 

“ So do I, Susan,” remarked Mr. Fielding. “ I believe 
they have been afraid of each other for years. They have 
acted so, have they not, Mrs. Felton ? ” 

“ I cannot say but that they have,” replied that lady ; 
“ and I could hardly understand them myself,” added she. 
“ Still I have ever hoped that all this coldness would at 
last result pleasantly.” 

“ It is likely to, I think,” said Mrs. Fielding ; (! at least 
I cannot conceive of any thing more agreeable to all 
parties interested, than the life-union of Dr. Stonely and 
our dear friend Kate.” 


OR, A TEEP AT REALITIES. 


331 


“ Unless it be the same kind of partnership formed 
between S. Blake, Esq., and our own loved Susan.” 

Kate listened with a quiet smile to all that was said, at 
the same time eating her breakfast. Susan strove to fol- 
low her example, and this pleasant chat at length was 
ended. The different parties went to attend to their dif- 
ferent duties. Mrs. Eielding and Susan busied themselves 
at home, while Mrs. Felton and Kate took an early walk 
to the dwelling of Mrs. Upton. They found that lady 
more comfortable and in better spirits than Kate had ever 
before seen her. She welcomed them cordially, and con- 
versed cheerfully of the prospect of returning health. 

“ I think,” said Mrs. Felton, “ that a change of air 
and scene might benefit you very much, Mrs. Upton.” 

“ Dr. Stonely thinks I ought to go into the country for 
a season,” replied she rather sadly ; ei but I cannot think 
of such a thing. I would be glad to, however. In a few 
days I shall be able to earn something more with my 
needle. I long to work again.” 

“ But you are not fit to apply yourself to sewing or 
any thing else yet. You must rest and recruit,” said 
Kate. 

“ Certainly,” replied her mother. “ I have been de- 
vising a little plan for your good, and I hope it will please 
you, my friend. I’ve been laying a plan for you to leave 
New York, for the present at least, and remove to a pretty 
little place near Rosefield. There you can, I am sure, 
establish yourself as a teacher of music, drawing, and 
other kinds of fancy work. I know of several families in 
that vicinity who would gladly employ a teacher near 
home. So I can be responsible for your success, — that 
is, if you approve my plan.” 


332 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ I do most heartily approve it, and would rejoice to go 
to that place if I only had the means to remove there, 
but I have not. I am poor ; only think, I have never 
been able to pay Dr. Stonely any thing for his services.” 

“ He does not intend to take any thing from you in 
pay,” said Kate. 

“ He is a good, generous, noble-hearted man, I know,” 
replied the other ; “ and I wish I could pay him.” 

“ You may,” said Mrs. Felton, “ by profiting by his 
kindness, and doing all you can to regain health.” 

“ I wish all doctors were like Dr. Stonely,” remarked 
Mrs. Upton, musingly. “ Have you ever seen that physician 
who travelled in the cars with us at the time we first met ? ” 
she asked. “ I have often thought of him. I was proud 
then, and did not appreciate that gentleman’s position,” 
added she. 

“ Yes, we have all seen him, and I trust you appreciate 
his present position. Dr. Stonely and this threadbare- 
coated gentleman are one,” said Mrs. Felton. 

Mrs. Upton betrayed much emotion on hearing this. 

“ Have you not sometimes suspected as much ? ” asked 
Kate. 

“ I have sometimes thought the expression of Dr. 
Stonely’s countenance resembled that of the gentleman 
1 then saw ; but I never believed them one. I did not 
care to, either,” was Mrs. Upton’s reply. 

“ You wouldn’t have respected him less on that account, 
would you ? ” inquired Mrs. Felton. 

“ Indeed I would not, but, on the contrary, esteem him 
more highly. I feel now that I can hardly do justice to 
the magnanimity of his acts towards myself. Did he 


OR, A FEKF AT REALITIE3. 


333 


know that I was the individual he had seen under such 
different circumstances ? 99 

“ He did not at first know who you are, but thought he 
had met with you somewhere. I told him not long since.” 

“ What did he say ? ” asked Mrs. Upton. 

“ He expressed regret at your misfortunes, and said his 
interest in your welfare would be increased by a knowledge 
of the fact,” answered Kate. 

“ What a dear good man he must be ! A Christian, he 
. is, without doubt,” said Mrs. Upton. 

“ I trust so,” was Kate’s reply ; “ but we have wan- 
dered from the subject mother just now introduced. To 
return to it : I will ask you to allow us the pleasure of 
defraying your expenses to Kosefield. If at any future 
day you are able to refund the money, you may do so ; but, 
if not, you will be welcome to it always.” 

Mrs. Upton was overcome with emotion ; mingled 
feelings agitated her breast for a time, and Mrs. Felton 
and Kate sat silently regarding her with affectionate inte- 
rest the while. 

In a few minutes, gratitude and a desire to benefit her 
children triumphed over the baser feelings of pride and 
hatred of obligation ; and she gratefully accepted the gene- 
rous offer of the friends Providence had kindly sent in 
her hour of extremity. 

“ I am overwhelmed,” said she, “with obligations al- 
ready ; but I cannot refuse to receive more at your hands. 
It will be my wish, as well as earnest endeavor, to repay 
your kindness, at least in some small degree. I trust I 
shall be able to do this ; if not, I hope Heaven will reward 
you.” 


334 


KATE FELTOK ; 


“ We are compensated already,” remarked Mrs. Felton. 
“ Your willingness to allow us to assist you is reward 
enough ; so do not trouble yourself about obligation, but 
think about changing your condition as soon as it will be 
consistent for you to travel.” 

Dr. Stonely, upon being consulted, thought it best, if 
possible, for his patient to be moved before cold weather 
arrived. He heartily approved of the plan suggested by 
Mrs. Felton, and told Mrs. Upton if she located herself 
near Rosefield she would probably see him occasionally, as 
he expected to visit that region sometimes. 

“ I shall always be happy to see you, doctor, in any 
place where I may go or be ; but I should hardly think 
you could ever desire to behold one like myself.” 

“ Why not ? ” inquired he, hastily, regarding her with 
surprise. “ I do not know any reason why I should not 
like to meet you again.” 

“ Have you forgotten the time we first met ? ” asked 
the lady in an humble tone. 

“ We met in a travelling-car, I remember.” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Upton ; “ and how haughty and dis- 
dainful I felt towards you ! I was rich then, and foolishly 
believed I was better than those who could boast but little 
of this world’s. goods. I did not then realize that there 
exists an aristocracy of genius, intellect, and morality, as 
w r ell as that of wealth. I should have been highly 
offended if any one had spoken of you then as my equal; 
but I now see that in every sense you were my superior.” 

“ Don’t let us talk any more of this,” said the doctor. 
“We are all erring mortals, dependent constantly upon 
the forbearance of our heavenly Father for forgiveness; 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


335 


therefore we are under obligations to pity the foibles of 
our fellow-beings, while we strive to love them, and do 
good to them in every possible way. You have never in- 
jured me, Mrs. Upton ; though when first we met you were 
ignorant of some phases of life, such as only one can un- 
derstand who is called to pass through trials such as you 
had not then tasted. It is pleasant to know, however, that 
your Father’s discipline has taught you that you were then 
mistaken on many points. I think, that, in respect to your 
afflictions, one may say with the poet, that, — 

‘Afflictions, though they seemed severe, 

Were kindly sent to bless.*” 

“Yes, truly may this be said,” responded Mrs. Upton 
earnestly. 

Mina Upton was overjoyed at the idea of going to Rose- 
field. She had dreaded the arrival of the time when Kate 
would leave New York ; but, if she could only live within 
a few miles of her at a future day, she should not mind 
the separation as much. The youngest children of Mrs. 
Upton, too, were delighted with the thought of living 
where they could see Miss Felton ; for they had learned 
to love her long before. Mrs. Felton and Kate united in 
proposing to take Mrs. Upton along with them on their 
homeward journey. 

“ What will Mina do, if I leave her ? ” asked the lady. 

"We don’t expect you to leave her,” said Mrs. Felton. 
“ All your children can go now, as well as by-and-by. 
They can be made comfortable, I doubt not, until we find 
a house for you ; so do not perplex yourself about the 
matter, — we will do all for you.” 

“ I never, never can repay such kindness as yours, my 
friends,” said Mrs. Upton, with deep feeling. 


336 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ Don’t trouble your mind with thoughts like those,” 
replied Mrs. Felton. “ Neither worry at all in regard to 
making preparations for your removal, for you will need 
all your little strength to perform the journey.” 

It was even so. Mrs. Upton was too feeble to exert 
herself without hazard to her health. Kate provided help 
for Mina, and attended to the fitting of the children for the 
trip ; and her kindness converted this little sober dwell- 
ing into a scene of merry bustle. Bright little faces 
beamed upon Kate whenever she looked in to see how 
they were progressing in their movements ; while the 
grateful, affectionate smile of Mina, as she went from one 
thing to another, arranging matters to her own satisfaction, 
told plainer than language could have done that they were 
happy. 

Mrs. Upton shared this happiness. It was of a conta- 
gious nature, and did not abate, but rather increased daily, 
until they all went on board the steamer that took them to 
Albany. 

The joy of the little ones was unbounded when they 
saw Mrs. Felton, Kate, and Susan, in the saloon of the 
boat. 

“ Oh, how delightful to go with you all ! ” said they 
both, in one breath. 

“ It is indeed a pleasure we could hardly have ex- 
pected,” answered their mother. “ Certainly one that 1 
did not deserve.” 

They had a pleasant trip to Albany. The weather was 
fine, although the air was rather cool. To Mrs. Upton it 
was gratefully invigorating. She enjoyed the excursion 
greatly. When they took the cars at Albany, for Rose- 


OR, A TEEP AT REALITIES. 


337 


field, memory’s finger pointed Mrs. Upton to the time she 
had travelled that road before. It is true, that, on the former 
occasion, they were moving in an opposite direction, and 
two of the company were missing now who before were with 
them ; yet there was enough to bring the past in bold re- 
view before the mind’s eye of her, who, since that period, 
had become so changed. 

“ Are you feeling more unwell?” asked Kate of Mrs. 
Upton. 

“ Oh no ! ” replied the lady. “ But I was almost lost to 
the present in thoughts of the past. It was, I believe, in 
this very same car that "you and I first met each other. I 
was just now thinking, that, at that time of my life, I 
knew little of happiness.” 

“Do you now,” inquired Mrs. Felton, “realize more 
what happiness is ? ” 

“ I think I do. Yes, I am sure that I am far happier 
at this moment, in my poverty, than I then was, sur- 
rounded by all the glitter of wealth. Then I forgot my 
heavenly Father, and fancied myself independent of his 
providential care. ‘ So foolish was I, and ignorant,’ as the 
Psalmist says, ‘ I was as a beast before God ; ’ and, I may 
add, f he has holden me with his right hand.’ I thank 
him for having brought me to see things differently, even 
though he has been obliged to afflict me in order to con- 
vince me of my sins.” 

“ I hope, Mrs. Upton,” said Kate, “that your last days 
may abound with comfort, — in temporal things as well as 
in those the world knows not of.” 

Our little 'party enjoyed much pleasant conversation a t 
those intervals when the locomotive permitted them to 
15 


338 


KATE FELTON ; 


hear each other’s voice ; and the trip, though long, did 
not seem tedious to them. They were glad, however, to 
get a glimpse of Rosefield, as they drew near the end of 
their journey. 

Good old Maggie had been apprised of the fact that 
her mistress expected to bring company ; therefore every 
thing was in readiness for the accommodation of even a 
greater number than arrived on the evening of the day 
upon which the old housekeeper expected them. 

“ We’ve come to bring you plenty of work, Maggie,” 
said Kate in answer to an assurance of the faithful woman 
that she was delighted to see her friends, company and all. 

“ Never think of the work. Miss Kate ; you’ve been 
gone so long that my poor old eyes fairly ached to see 
you. I would ask if you have enjoyed your visits, only 
you look so well and happy that I needn’t.” 

“ I am both happy and well,” replied Kate ; “ besides, 
I have enjoyed more during my absence than I ever have 
before, while away from this dear old home.” 

“ Are these visitors some new acquaintances of yours. 
Miss Kate ? ” asked Maggie. 

“ No, not very new,” replied Kate. “ I have known 
them some years.” 

“ They haven’t been here before as I remember,” said 
the other. 

“ No, Maggie, they have never been here before,” was 
the answer, as she left the room to follow her mother and 
Mrs. Upton up stairs. 

“ Tea will very soon be ready,” said the housekeeper, 
as the young lady ascended the stairs. 

It was but a little while before all the happy little 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


339 


party was assembled around the supper-table. The travel- 
lers were somewhat weary, yet their fatigue was well-nigh 
forgotten on this cheerful occasion. Every face wore a 
smile of sweet content, while the pleasure of old Maggie 
was too great to be quiet. She was obliged to manifest it 
by sundry exclamations of joy, such as, — 

“ It does seem so good to have you all at home again. 
I can’t express my happiness, indeed I can’t. You’ve 
been so far away, and then come in safety, so well and 
happy, home again. I am rejoiced at it. Shall you stay 
at home next winter, think ye, or will I have to spare 
you again ? I can’t help thinking of that, if I am 
happy.” 

“We don’t know yet, Maggie,” replied Mrs. Felton, 
“ where we shall spend the winter. I hope we can stay 
at home, but it is an uncertain matter now. There is 
some news,” she added, “ for you to hear by-and-by ; 
pleasant news to be sure, but it may not make you glad 
at first.” 

“ Oh dear ! ” said the good woman with a sigh, “ I 
hope the young ladies are not going to be carried off by 
husbands yet a while ; I hope this isn’t what I’ve got to 
hear.” 

“You would like no news better than such as that, 
would you, Maggie ? ” asked Mrs. Felton, playfully. 

“ To be sure I would,” replied the good soul ; “ and 
yet I know that I have no right to expect any thing dif- 
ferent. I know well enough that Miss Kate won’t get 
married unless she thinks it her duty. Let her be ever so 
much attached to a gentleman, she would think of the 
matter long before she decided to change her name ; so I 


340 


KATE FELTON ; 


suppose I oughtn’t to fret about it, but submit like a 
Christian.” 

“ Suppose, Maggie, I should change my name, and yet 
not leave you. How would that suit you ? ” 

“ I should like it, if the name you took was as good as 
your own. It can’t be no better, if I do say it.” 

“ I shall not take a name that is not honorable enough 
to reflect credit upon the memory of my father, Maggie. 
That will do, I suppose, will it not ? ” 

“ Oh yes, indeed. Miss Kate ! I’ll trust you any 
where.” 

“ Except in a distant home,” said Kate with a playful 
smile, interrupting the loquacious woman. 

“ But is it really so ; is Miss Kate a going to be mar- 
ried ? ” asked Maggie of Mrs. Felton. 

“ Yes,” answered Mrs. Felton ; “ it is true that she will 
be united to a gentleman that you will some time love as 
well as you now love my daughter.” 

“ Susan, too, is thinking of changing her condition by- 
and-by.” 

ic Well, changes must come,” said Maggie, thought- 
fully ; “ but do tell me the names of these gentlemen, 
Mrs. Felton. I suppose the young ladies are willing I 
should know them.” 

“ Certainly we are,” said Kate, speaking for Susan as 
well as herself. “ Mr. Blake is the name of one, and the 
other is Dr. Stonely.” 

“ You are to be the doctor’s bride, I reckon ? ” said 
Maggie, addressing Kate. 

“ Why do you think so ? ” asked Kate. 

“ Because you’re just fit for a good doctor’s wife this 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


341 


minute, and every body knows it that knows ye. Susan,” 
added she, “ is a good young lady, but she’s not had 
experience, as you have. Miss Kate.” 

“ W ell. I’ll have the doctor, then,” replied Kate, laugh- 
ing, “ and let Susan become Mrs. Blake ; but these 
changes are not to take place right away. We shall be 
together for some time yet.” 

(i That is a comfort,” said Maggie with some emphasis ; 
at the same time raising Kate’s hand to her lips affection- 
ately, as that young lady arose and left the table near 
which this faithful creature was standing. Tears filled 
the eyes of Kate at this expression of attachment from 
one who had watched over her feeble steps in infancy, and 
ministered to her wants in riper years. 

“ How blest I am ! ” thought Kate as she accompanied 
their invalid guest to her chamber. “ Loving ones sur- 
round me on every hand. Was ever the cup of a mortal 
more full of happiness than mine ? ” 

Kate’s beaming countenance told plainly that she was 
happy. Mrs. IJpton only waited to be alone with her to 
tell her how thankful she felt that Dr. Stonely’s interest 
and hers were to be one. 

“ I understand now why the doctor is to be often in this 
vicinity,” said the lady. “ When he told me this, I was 
a little surprised ; but I have been so much occupied with 
my own affairs since then, that I had not guessed the 
reason. The conversation at supper enlightened me, and 
it also gladdened my heart. I do not deserve your friend- 
ship, much less the doctor’s. Yet I feel that it is among 
the greatest blessings of my life.” 

“ We are happy in being your friends,” remarked Kate. 


342 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ I can speak for Dr. Stonely as well as myself ; for I 
know that it has given him great pleasure to oblige you.’’ 

“ A friend in need, I thought once, could never be 
mine ; but now I realize the benefit of such a one,” said 
Mrs. Upton. “I am only too happy in enjoying your 
liberal hospitality to-night.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


343 


CHAPTER XXY. 

“Never so truly happy. 

I know myself now, and I feel within me 
A peace above all earthly dignities, — 

A still and quiet conscience.” Shakespeare. 

Mrs. Upton was urged to remain a few days at Mrs, 
Felton’s quiet home with her children. Mina was not in 
perfect health, — her energies had been overtaxed, and she 
needed rest ; besides, the change and absence of care were 
grateful to one who had endured much both mentally and 
physically, as had Mrs. Upton. She was thankful for the 
invitation to remain with these friends for a while. The 
obligations they had laid her under were great , but not 
onerous ; for their kindness had ever been so unobtrusive 
in its character towards her, that she could scarcely realize 
that herself was the obliged party. 

Kate and Susan soon began to look about for a suitable 
dwelling for the widow and her fatherless children. They 
found a neat cottage house, pleasantly situated, about two 
miles distant from their own home. Its surroundings 
were pretty. The house was white, its windows were 
shaded with green blinds ; while a luxuriant woodbine 
climbed proudly over the whole of its front, and then 
crept lovingly along its side. At this season, the bright 
berries that hung from the vine enhanced its beauty, and 
invited travellers oftentimes to pause and gaze upon it 
with an admiring eye. 

This was not, however, the principal attraction of this 
little spot ; for roses, honeysuckle, and sweetbrier, in 


314 


KATE FELTON ; 


their season, lent their aid to allure the child of taste 
thither. A vegetable garden ; small orchard ; and a little 
corner that gloried in its wealth of grape-vines, now laden 
with rich fruit ; and currants and raspberries in their 
season, — composed the external attractions of the place. 

"Within, there were two pleasant parlors, a dining-room, 
and kitchen, besides one bed-room, all upon the first floor. 
Kate wisely thought this house would be exactly suited 
to the convenience of Mrs. Upton. That lady, as Kate 
told Susan, could devote the back parlor to the use of her 
pupils, which she was sure she could obtain ; while the 
other rooms were well calculated for the comfort of her 
family, as there were nice chambers for lodging. She did 
not lease it, however, without consulting Mrs. Upton ; but 
she engaged the services of a good woman, who was out 
of employ, and who was willing to become maid-of-all- 
work to this acquaintance of Mrs. Felton and Kate. 

“ I’ll work for any one that you care about,” said the 
woman, “or for your mother and yourself. I’ve not for- 
gotten your kindness to my poor father and mother in their 
last sickness.” 

Kate thanked her humble friend, and told her some- 
thing of the history of her with whom she was to live. 

“ I know,” said Kate, “ that you, Rachel, will not look 
for perfection, and will not allow the occasional indulgence 
of a fretful spirit to spoil your peace. This lady,” she 
continued, “ is feeble in body, and she feels the change in 
her condition ; yet strives, I think, to be patient under 
trial, and thankful for the mercies she enjoys. At times, 
however, she tests the patience and forbearance of those 
around her ; and she certainly has a claim upon the sym- 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


345 


pathy of us all. You may assist her much, though 
indirectly, in her struggles with her own heart. Her 
daughter Mina will be a sunbeam to dispel the transient 
gloominess of your way here, while her little brother and 
sister will unite with this lovely girl in the good work. 

“ You know now just what to expect, and you need this 
knowledge to qualify you fully for the situation you are to 

fill.” 

Rachel, it would seem, was made for the purpose of 
living with such a person as Mrs. Upton. So Kate thought. 
She had long known her, and she had determined before 
leaving New York to engage her, if possible, as house- 
keeper for her unfortunate friend. This lady’s unfitness 
to guide her own domestic affairs was well known to Kate. 
She was also aware that Mina’s health was suffering from 
her too great efforts to do that which she knew not how 
to accomplish. Perplexity and anxiety were, as they ever 
are in such cases, more wearing to her than labor. 

Kate had no idea of placing an obstacle in the way of 
Mina’s domestic education, for she felt this would be 
wrong. She wished her to be in a condition to assist to 
lighten the burdens of others. Mrs. Upton was wofully 
ignorant in this respect. She had in her girlhood foolishly 
considered labor degrading ; indeed, she advocated the 
same ridiculous theory in womanhood, and scorned doing 
any thing for herself that a servant could do for her. 
When poverty first came upon her “like a strong man 
armed,” as she often said, she fretted at her circumstances, 
without regretting her unfitness to meet them. 

Her daughter, however, felt deeply the defect in her 
mother’s education, as well as her own. She saw plainly 
15 * 


346 


KATE FELTON ; 


that their misfortunes would have been lighter, but for this 
want of practical knowledge in housekeeping ; and she 
strove to convince her mother of the fact. A cook-book is 
well enough, and often essential, in the hands of those who 
have experience and judgment to aid them ; but it is oftener 
an extravagent agent in the hands of those who are un- 
taught and unpractised. 

Mina had learned this by her own trying experience. 
She hailed the short respite she was now enjoying with 
delight, and would not let thoughts of future perplexities 
greatly mar her comfort. Yet she dreaded — and who can 
wonder ? — her return to those household cares for which 
she well knew she was entirely unprepared. 

Kate and Susan were not absent but an hour or two 
from home, at the time they obtained a refusal of the house 
for Mrs. Upton, and secured the services of Rachel. 
Their friends knew they had been out on business, as on 
their return they brought home some little articles they 
had purchased. Kate it best for Mrs. Upton to continue 
their guest for a season, as she seemed to enjoy her visit ; 
besides, Mina was a favorite with all in the house, and they 
loved to have her there. Mina, too, loved to be near those 
she loved so well ; and she had another motive that influ- 
enced her in wishing to prolong her stay at Mrs. Felton’s, — 
she could go into the kitchen sometimes, and notice the 
servants when they were at work. The cook was a good- 
natured woman, and willingly answered any questions 
asked by Mina in regard to the art of bread-making, boil- 
ing rice, and many other matters relating to simple cook- 
ing. The poor girl hailed this as a long-wished-for op- 
portunity to learn what she had long greatly desired to 
know, 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


347 


When the ladies returned from their business excursion, 
they missed Mina from the little circle that was gathered 
in the sitting-room, and inquired for her. Maggie heard 
their inquiries, and, with a smile of good humour and sa- 
tisfaction on her ever-pleasant countenance, begged the 
privilege of conducting the young ladies to the place 
where she had lately seen her busily engaged. 

“ What is she engaged in ? ” asked Kate, with a feel- 
ing of curiosity. 

“ Please come and see for yourself,” replied Maggie, as 
she led the way to the kitchen. 

There they saw Mina anxiously watching the cook, who 
was making pastry. She looked up as her friends ap- 
proached the table at which she was stationed, and smiling- 
ly remarked to them that she was taking lessons in cook- 
ing. 

“ You need not at present,” said Kate ; “ you should rest 
while you are here. It will be time enough to begin to 
trouble yourself about domestic affairs when your mother 
gets to housekeeping again.” 

“But, Miss Felton,” replied Mina, “you don’t know 
how hard it is to try to do what one has never seen done, 
or been learned to do. I have shed a great many tears 
oi er my ignorance,” she continued, “ and I am thankful 
to be taught anything that will be of use to one in keeping 
house. I wish my mother had only learned something of 
the art, so that she could now teach me.” 

“ You are to have a teacher, my dear girl,” said Kate, 
“ when you go to your new home. I have engaged a wo- 
man to live with your mother, who is an excellent house- 
keeper. From her you may obtain much knowledge that 


348 


KATE FELTON ; 


will be useful to you, not only in regard to domestic af- 
fairs, but of other things. This woman is a Christian too, 
and has had much experience that has qualified her for 
usefulness, particularly in a family like your mother’s.” 

“ How very, very kind of you think of this ! ” said Mina, 
eagerly. “ I have suffered so much from the ignorance of 
both my mother and myself in regard to these things, that 
the prospect of being relieved from the perplexity quite 
delights me.” 

Kate then told Mina of the house she had seen ; and it 
was agreed that she should go, towards evening, and look 
at it. 

“We will ride over,” remarked Kate, “and show the 
place to you, before you say anything to your mother 
about it.” 

“ You are too good to us,” was Mina’s grave rejoinder. 

“As if that could be so,” replied Kate, laughing, as she 
left the kitchen. 

Mina never forgot the lesson she took on that morning. 
She learned thoroughly the art of making pie-crust, — a 
skill in which too many are deficient, deplorably so for the 
health or comfort of those who depend upon their efforts 
in this department of cooking. It was with mingled feel- 
ings of gratitude and delight, that Mina went through the 
pleasant house Kate had selected for her home. 

“ What a lovely place ! ” said she, as she gazed upon its 
beautiful belongings and surroundings. “ Why, if we 
come here to live, we shall forget that we have ever been 
poor. I hope Carrie Stonely will come here to see me 
sometimes.” 

“ She will, I dare say,” answered Kate. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


349 


“ It will be even more pleasant here in the spring,” re- 
marked Susan. 

“ Not more beautiful,” replied Mina ; “ only the beauty 
of the spring will be of another kind. I admire the dark, 
rich colors of autumn very much ; their language is to me 
significantly lovely.” 

“ I hope your mother will like this place,” said Kate ; 
because it is nearer to us than any house we can find.” 

“ I know she will,” responded Mina and Susan, in one 
breath. 

“ She cannot help liking it, I am sure,” said Mina. 

It proved even so. In a day or two after this conversa- 
tion, Mrs. Upton, having entirely recovered from the effect 
of travelling, visited the cottage ; and, to the inexpressible 
delight of her children, declared it seemed to her like a 
little paradise on earth. 

“ We can take comfort here, can we not, mother ? ” asked 
Mina. 

“ I hope we shall,” was her mother’s encouraging reply. 

All were busy now for a few days, and pleasantly too, 
in making preparations for the removal of Mrs. Upton to 
her new abode. Rachel was presented to her new mistress, 
who was not only astonished, but very grateful, to find her 
greatest want so kindly supplied. 

“ We shall find it pleasant to keep house now,” said she 
to her daughter ; “ for we shall be freed from that onerous 
care we felt so wearing when we were in New York. I 
think the anxiety of trying to keep house helped to bring 
on my illness,” added she, addressing her friends. 

“ I presume that it had much to do with it,” answered 
Mrs. Felton. “It could not be otherwise.” 


350 


KATE FELTON 


“To avoid a repetition of this evil/’ said Kate, “I 
hope you will be willing your daughters should be taught 
every thing that it is necessary a good housekeeper should 
know. Such knowledge will not unfit them for any circle 
in society, while a w r ant of it sometimes is the cause of 
much misery.” 

“ I have realized what a want of this knowledge can 
make a family suffer too fully to fail of profiting by the 
experience,” remarked Mrs. Upton ; “ at least, I trust I 
have.” 

“ So have I,” exclaimed Mina. “ I have seen the time 
that I should have been grateful to become the pupil of 
the freshest daughter of Erin I ever beheld, who could 
tell me any thing in regard to domestic duties.” 

“ Experience I have found an expensive teacher. I 
certainly ought to profit by its teachings,” remarked Mrs. 
Upton, rather sadly. 

“We all have realized this in a greater or less degree,” 
said her kind hostess. “We are slow to profit by the ex- 
perience of others, but are very apt to believe things will 
do better with us ; until we have tried for ourselves, we 
are not always satisfied. This makes part of life’s dis- 
cipline.” 

“A rough part, too, I think,” was Mrs. Upton’s re- 
joinder. 

It was not long before every thing was in readiness for 
the ladies’ removal. The house was furnished, if not 
elegantly, very prettily ; and every thing about it was sug- 
gestive of comfort. Mrs. Felton had arranged matters so 
that they might have something of a “ house-warming ” 
when the family took possession of the premises. Conse- 


OK, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


351 


quently, all their friends either accompanied them, or 
followed soon after to “ the dear little cottage home,” as 
Mina termed their rented domicil, Rachel presided at 
supper on that occasion, and the day closed pleasantly to 
all parties. Both givers and receivers enjoyed the privi- 
lege granted them by their heavenly Father. If one party 
realized that it was blessed to give of the bounties that 
had been bestowed upon them, the other confessed that 
it was sweet to partake of the benefits conferred through 
the medium of loved friends by a Father’s hand. 

Mrs. Upton soon commenced giving lessons in music 
and drawing ; the number of her pupils increased almost 
daily, until she had as many as she could possibly instruct. 
The housekeeping department was well cared for by Ra- 
chel and Mina. The latter spent some time every day to 
learn this most important of things, — the way to make a 
household comfortable, 

Carrie Stonely visited Rosefield, and spent several days 
with Mina, before she returned to New York. Her father 
contrived to leave his business for a day or two, in order 
to gratify his wishes in seeing Kate, as well as in accom- 
panying Carrie home. His visit to Rosefield, short as it 
was, produced a great sensation ; the news that he had 
come to visit Miss Felton spread rapidly throughout the 
place. All rejoiced to have Kate beloved by a worthy 
object, and yet there were none that did not dread the 
thought of her removal from Rosefield. 

Carrie Stonely was among the happiest of the happy, 
when she was informed by her father, after leaving Rose- 
field, that he expected Kate to accompany them back, after 
becoming her second mother, the next time they visited 
that place. 


KATE FELTON ; 


352 

“ I hope,” said Carrie, “ that you will go again soon, 
father.” 

“ Not before March,” he replied. “ You can correspond 
with Miss Felton frequently until then ; this will make 
the time pass pleasantly to you.” 

“ Shall you write to her, too ? ” asked Carrie. 

“ To be sure I shall,” answered the doctor. 

“ Then you will have to write when every one else is 
sleeping,” said Carrie. 

“ Sometimes I suppose I shall,” answered her father, 
smiling ; “ but I hope I shall get time to read the answers 
to my missives in the day-time.” 

Mr. Blake also made one of the guests at Bosefield 
during the bird-like stay of Dr. Stonely. It was a pleasant 
gathering in the dear, cosy little sitting-room, on the even- 
ing before the doctor’s departure. The intentions of the 
two parties for whom most interest was felt were then 
made known to those dearest to them. 

Mr. Blake was desirous to gain the approbation of 
Mrs. Felton and Kate to have the marriage take place at 
New Year’s. 

“ It is soon I know,” said he, “ to ask you to part with 
Susan ; but I greatly desire to be settled in life, and Susan 
leaves it with you to decide. I, also, will await your 
decision.” 

Mrs. Felton did not hesitate to consent to his proposal. 
She and Kate both would like to have Susan continue with 
them longer ; yet they felt it would be as well for them, 
at least, to have her leave them now. Her society had 
become, as they were tempted to think, quite necessary to 
their happiness. This feeling they confessed to Mr. Blake. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


353 


“ I know only too well how to sympathize with yon, 
my friends,” he answered ; “ and for this very reason I 
wish you to be willing to resign Susan to my care. I will 
pledge my word to be faithful to the trust you so gene- 
rously commit to my charge. I feel its importance, as 
you must believe.” 

Susan’s eyes were moist with tears, while her friends 
were conversing, — tears not caused by sorrow, although 
she regretted to leave those who had been to her more than 
parent and sister. They were rather the effusion of joy 
at the thought of the affection that was cherished for her 
by those who were ranked among the noble and the good. 

“ You will have Kate always near you, I hope,” said 
Dr. Stonely. “ I wish you to live with her always, either 
at my house in the city, or here in your own home. I 
cannot think of separating you from your only daughter. 
I think her happiness would not be increased by a mar- 
riage that would do this.” 

Kate regarded the doctor as he said this with a grateful, 
affectionate smile. Her mother thanked him for the 
regard he manifested for her feelings, also for his invitation 
to make her one of his household, but could not, she 
said, determine at once what it would be best for her 
to do. 

“ I will prayerfully watch the leadings of Providence ; 
and I shall be enabled to discern the right way in due 
time, I doubt not,” said she. 

This little gathering separated on that evening with 
more smiles than might be expected beaming upon their 
countenances ; yet some wilful tears made their appearance 
on more than one face, as the thought intruded itself that 


354 


KATE FELTON ; 


there could be no state on earth of unalloyed happiness, — 
that often, to obtain the enjoyment of one good, we must 
resign another. Carrie was the only one who thought 
she would have nothing to wish altered after Kate became 
a member of her family. Pier young heart was buoyant 
with pleasure. 

“ How happy I am ! ” was her exclamation at parting 
with Kate, when she bade her good-by, and took her seat 
beside her father in the carriage that conveyed them to 
the cars. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


355 


CHAPTER XXYI. 

“ Verily from others* griefs are gendered sympathy and kindness.” 

“ Man appoints, God disappoints.” 

Now commenced a busy season at Mrs. Felton’s. Two 
weddings were anticipated, and Kate and Susan wished to 
make preparations for housekeeping. It was in vain that 
Mr. Blake had protested against having any thing ar- 
ranged at Rosefield. He could not be allowed to do every 
thing ; and so Mrs. Felton told him Susan must not go 
from the home of her friends without an additional token 
of their affectionate concern for her welfare. 

Cloth was purchased, and every thing else provided 
with a liberal hand that was needed for the occasion. 
Cheerfulness presided im this dwelling, where all were 
employed ; though thought was often running wayward for 
a few moments over the past, and then venturing to pry 
into the future, while fingers were moving in obedience 
to the promptings of willing hearts. 

Autumn was soon gone. Winter took its place, with 
its fleecy robes and cheerful firesides, — around which 
gathered happy faces, radiant with the reflection of kindly 
emotions, which were cherished in hearts that glowed with 
love towards their fellow-beings. 

Susan applied herself to work very steadily : she was 
anxious to do something for Kate that this friend could 
long keep in remembrance of her love. She was often 
warned that she might injure herself by too close appli- 
cation to work ; but she always answered cheerily that she 


356 


KATE FELTON ; 


was in little danger. Christmas came with its merry 
holidays. This was some interruption to labor, and af- 
forded a change, though not much rest, to the active party 
at Mrs. Felton’s. 

Mr. Blake went to spend Christmas Day with Susan. 
She didn’t expect him, and when he arrived she was ab- 
sent from home. Susan had complained of a feeling of 
languor during the morning of the day previous, and her 
friends suggested that a short ride and change of scene 
might do her good. Consequently she proposed going to 
Mrs. Upton’s, to carry an invitation from Mrs. Felton to 
that lady and her family to spend the next day at Rosefield. 
As all about the premises were engaged in various ways, 
she went alone. The drive was far from being unpleasant 
to her, although she felt a listlessness that was depressing. 
She spent most of the day at the cottage, having the pro- 
mise of Mina’s company on her way home, if she would 
do so. 

At early nightfall, just as she was preparing to return, 
Mr. Blake came to accompany her, and Mina felt that her 
company would be an intrusion ; but Susan contended that 
their plans need not be altered, and Mr. Blake coincided 
in her views of the subject. The quick eye of love ena- 
bled Mr. Blake to discern that all was not right with the 
object of his tenderest regard. 

“ You are not well, Susan,” said he, as they drove from 
the door of Mrs. Upton’s cottage, glancing at her as she 
sat behind him in the carriage. 

“ Oh yes I am ! but I am dull and stupid. To-mor- 
row I trust I shall feel brighter,” said she, making an 
effort to throw off her feelings of depression. She did not, 


OK, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


357 


however, fully succeed, although she engaged in conver- 
sation. She seemed unlike her former self. 

On reaching home, she sat quietly upon the sofa during 
most of the evening ; seldom speaking, unless when spo- 
ken to. Mrs. Felton felt greatly concerned about her, 
and feared that something more than fatigue affected her 
dear girl. Still she hoped that a night’s sleep might re- 
store her to her wonted spirits. 

Bring urged by all her friends to retire to rest early, 
she bade them all good-night, and went up stairs. For 
her sake, quiet reigned throughout the house at a much 
earlier hour than usual. All felt the need of Susan’s 
bright smile and lively step throughout the household, and 
seemed hushed to silence, that she might not be disturbed. 

Christmas morning dawned brightly. The air was cold, 
yet not so intensely cold that one could not go abroad with 
comfort. A pretty level fall of snow during the night 
gave promise of many cheerful sleigh-rides to be enjoyed 
on that festal day. Old Maggie was early at the door of 
Susan’s room, which was opened by Mina, who was very 
glad to see the friendly face of the good woman. Susan 
was shivering with cold ; and all the covering that her 
young friend could find did not make her warm. 
Maggie advanced to the bedside, and looked at Susan a 
moment anxiously, feeling her pulse the while. 

“ How are you this pretty Christmas morning ? ” said 
she to Susan. 

“ I am not sick,” was her reply, “ but very cold. Is it 
much colder abroad than it was ? ” asked she. 

“Not a great deal,” answered Maggie ; “ and I wish 
you and Mina both a merry Christmas.” 


358 


KATE FELTON ; 


This she said as she was leaving the room; which she 
lid immediately, and hastened to the kitchen to prepare 
some hot drink for her “ suffering child,” as she called 
Susan. Some pennyroyal tea was soon smoking in a bowl 
by the bedside of Maggie’s favorite. 

“ Now you will drink every drop of this tea, won’t 
you, dear ? ” said the kind creature, as she handed the 
bowl to Susan, who took it, and complied with the re- 
quest of her nurse. “ That will help to warm you,” said 
she, as she took the bowl from the hand of her patient, 
and covered her closely with blankets. “ Lie still until 
breakfast time,” she added ; “ then you may feel better.” 

Her hope of this was faint, however ; yet the dreaded 
thought that her darling was on the verge of a severe ill- 
ness could not be indulged for a moment. It was too 
painful to her loving, tender heart. 

At the hour of breakfast, Susan arose and partly dressed, 
but was obliged to lie down again. A faintness came over 
her, with a shivering and pain that she was unable to resist ; 
and, yielding to its power, she gave up the idea of meeting 
the family with Mr. Blake at the social board, on that 
morning. 

“ By noon,” said she, “ I may be able to go down stairs.” 

Yet this hope was illusive ; instead of growing better, 
she rapidly became worse. A physician was summoned, 
who endeavored to arrest the progress of disease. His 
efforts, however, were vain ; for, before evening, Susan 
was unconscious of all that was passing around her. Mr. 
Blake was overwhelmed at this unexpected trial. He had 
the sympathy of the whole household to comfort him, even 
though they too were sorrowing over the stricken one. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


350 


This Christmas Day was a sad one to the family at Rose- 
field. Mina Upton spent it with them ; but the Christ- 
mas tree was neglected, while the many little presents 
prepared for the occasion were scarcely thought of, and 
merry greetings were unheard after early morning. Day 
followed day, without bringing any change for the better 
in the case of Susan. Delirium continued with little in- 
terruption, and the fever threatened to prove fatal to the 
young sufferer. 

Kate and Mr. Blake were both anxious that Dr. Stonely 
should be sent for ; so, indeed, were all the household. 

Mrs. Upton urged Mrs. Felton to send a dispatch, as 
soon as a messenger could ride to the nearest telegraph 
office, to request him to come with the least possible delay. 
She did send for him. All were weary with watching in 
this household, where every heart glowed with affection 
towards her whose state claimed their sympathies and 
demanded their efforts ; yet none realized their weariness. 

Dr. Stonely had previously heard of Susan’s illness, and 
lost no time in obeying the summons to attend her. Car- 
rie wept at the sad intelligence brought by the dispatch. 

“ New Year’s has already come and gone by,” said she, 
“ and Susan and Mr. Blake are not married, as they 
had intended. How uncertain every thing is ! Is it not, 
father?” 

“ In this world, my daughter, every thing is uncertain 
but death. And yet it is not a sad world, is it, Carrie ? ” 

“ Not altogether, I know it is not ; but this sickness of 
Susan’s makes it look sad to me just now. I am afraid it 
will prevent Miss Felton from coming here as soon as we 
expected.” 


360 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ Is that the only reason why you regret Susan’s illness, 
my dear ? ” 

“ It is not the only one, but I believe it is the strongest 
reason among others. I do want so very much to have 
Miss Felton with us.” 

“ So do I wish very much to have Miss Felton here ; 
but remember, Carrie, there is One who knows better than 
we do what is best for us all. By this dispensation we 
are reminded that our rest is not on earth. Let us not 
forget this truth, but commit every thing dear to us now 
to the kind keeping of our best Friend.” 

Dr. Stonely then knelt before the mercy-seat, and com- 
mended all he was about to leave, and those he was about 
to seek, to the kind care of their unchangeable Father, 
even their God. He then started immediately for Rose- 
field ; and, by travelling in the swiftest trains, reached the 
house of Mrs. Felton in less than twenty-four hours after 
he bade Carrie adieu. He came as a friend, but his pro- 
fessional services were sought by Mr. Blake and all the 
friends of Susan. Her attending physician asked his 
counsel. He had desired advice sooner ; but the idea of 
calling any doctor except Dr. Stonely could not be en- 
dured, consequently the physician in attendance had 
waited, although impatiently, for Dr. Stonely’s arrival. 

A consultation was held as soon as possible after he 
came, and the declared opinion of both doctors was unfa- 
vorable. Dr. Stonely thought there existed a possibility 
of recovery in the case, and suggested some remedies that 
had not been tried. Dr. Bliss followed these suggestions 
of his professional brother, yet without any expectation 
that they would avail in the case of his patient. Dr. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


361 


Stonely had hope ; he never would despair of a case until 
he knew that the hand of death was laid upon the victim. 

In the present case he strove more earnestly to lead his 
friends to submission, than to inspire them with hope. 
He knew how to make this case of Mr. Blake’s his own. 
Like himself, he was now betrothed to a beloved object ; 
and past experience had taught him that those dear to 
him were mortal. His society was a solace to Mr. Blake, 
who was grateful for his kind attentions and sympathy. 
Still the doctor dreaded to have him lean upon this arm 
of flesh. 

“ Do not, my dear sir,” said he, “ forget that it is God 
alone that can keep alive her whose life is so precious to 
you. It was a sad lesson that taught me my entire de- 
pendence upon my heavenly Father, As you already 
know, I was stricken in the morning of my days, com- 
paratively speaking. My wife was removed from me in 
an unexpected hour. I was absent at the time, and had 
not the comfort of hearing her parting words, nor receiving 
the pressure of her hand in death. I have since thought 
that 1 would have given worlds, could I have done so, 
to have enjoyed the privilege of sitting by the side of my 
companion during her last illness ; but this boon was de- 
nied me in infinite wisdom, though it was hard to believe 
this at that time. Ingrate that I was, I dared to question 
the justice of Omnipotence in taking my idols from me. 
I murmured at his dealings, but he was good to me. He 
overruled this greatest of trials to my good, and, as I 
trust, brought me, a prodigal from his love, back to those 
everlasting arms that I have found from blessed expe- 
rience can protect from every ill. I would not appoint 
16 


362 


KATE FELTON ; 


my lot now, if I might. I feel that God can do all things 
better than I. We shall not at the end of life, my friend, 
regret one trial we have endured along its pathway.” 

“ How I wish,” said Mr. Blake, “ that Susan had be- 
come my wife before this ! then she would have been in 
New York, and you could have seen her every day.” 

“ Be thankful it is not wor^e than it now is,” replied 
Dr. Stonely. “ Think of your many mercies. Even if 
Susan does not recover, you can be grateful that she is 
surrounded by dear friends, who will not fail in doing 
aught that mortal can do for her good.” 

Mr. Blake shuddered at the thought that Susan was 
liable to die ; still he was well aware that a few hours 
more would probably decide her fate. 

“ Will she live ? ” was the question nervously asked 
the doctors by more than one, during that long night of 
suspense that followed the day on which the preceding 
conversation was held between Mr. Blake and Dr. Stonely. 

“ Would I could relieve your anxiety ! ” was oftentimes 
said, by way of reply to this inquiry ; but the result of 
that long-continued slumber no mortal could determine. 

The stillness of death prevailed in the chamber, to 
which the hearts of many loving friends were turned with 
anxious expectation. Often a figure was seen, treading 
softly along the hall towards the door, and listening, to 
catch if possible some whispered intelligence of what was 
passing within. 

“ There is no change,” was the often repeated assurance 
given to inquirers ; and, “ Would there was an alteration 
for the better ! ” was as often ejaculated by those to whom 
this assurance was given. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


363 


Mrs. Felton went to her chamber at a late hour, op- 
pressed with weariness and sorrow. 

“ It will not do,” said she, mentally, “ to yield thus to 
my feelings. I feel that my health is already beginning 
to suffer. I must cast my burden upon the Lord.” 

Just then she heard a gentle rap at her door. She 
arose, and opened it to admit Kate, who had followed her 
mother with feelings in unison with those her parent was 
at the moment indulging. 

“ Mother,” said the affectionate daughter, “ I must go 
with this trial directly to our Saviour. Will you not go 
with me? Without help from him, I can bear up no 
longer.” 

“ He is able to raise the sinking,” was the sweet reply 
of Mrs. Felton, as with her daughter she knelt in submis- 
sion at the feet of Him who raised even the dead when on 
earth, and whose power is still the same. She poured out 
the united feelings of her own and her daughter’s heart 
before this compassionate Friend. Pleading, not that he 
would perform a miracle, but that he would enable them 
to leave every thing connected with the object so dear to 
them with himself. Her life was very precious to them ; 
if it might but be spared, they trusted the mercy would 
inspire them with a livelier sense of gratitude than they 
had ever before ‘experienced. 

A chastened feeling, that brought peace to their hearts, 
was the result of this communion with their Father, God. 
They arose from their knees, refreshed in spirit, and 
strengthened to go forth again to conflict with adverse cir- 
cumstances, and assist others in the same noble work. 
Kate left her mother in her room, and went to the chamber 


364 


KATE FELTON ; 


occupied by Susan. She still slept. Dr. Stonely sat on 
one side of the bed, at a little distance from it, and Dr. 
Bliss on the other. Mr. Blake sat at the foot, with his 
eyes fixed on the face of the sleeper, and his heart full of 
painful forebodings. Maggie sat in the hall, ready to 
catch the first sound that emanated from the chamber. 
Kate urged her to retire. She shook her head. 

“ It is your duty to rest, awhile at least,” said Kate. 
“ I will call you if Susan awakes.” 

“ To please you, my dear Miss Felton, I will go and lie 
down.” 

The affectionate, faithful woman went to her chamber, 
saying as she left Kate, — 

“ Now, don’t forget to call me.” 

Assured that she should be remembered, she laid her- 
self upon the bed, that for some nights had been deserted. 
Long, long was the sleep of the patient, and more and 
more breathless the anxiety of waiting friends. The dawn 
of a new day began to streak the eastern sky, and still 
that silent breathing of the sleeper was undisturbed. 
Sometimes it seemed as if the spirit could be no longer 
there, so noiseless was her breathing. At length, a gentle 
sigh was heard, which attracted the notice of each friend. 
All simultaneously moved towards the bed. The phy- 
sicians motioned them back ; for Susan, at the moment, 
opened her eyes languidly. Her attending doctor took 
her pulse, and, bending over her, had the satisfaction of 
finding that consciousness had returned. Susan recognized 
him. 

“ Doctor,” said she, with a faint smile. 

“ Be quiet,” said he, and hastened to give her a reviving 
cordial. 


OR, A TEEP AT REALITIES. 


£65 


“ Am I very sick ? ” asked Susan. 

“ So much so that you must not talk at present,” was 
the doctor’s kind reply. 

She smiled her approval of this suggestion, and again 
closed her eyes. 

Both physicians now expressed the opinion that the 
crisis was past. 

“With great care, she may now recover,” said Dr. 
Stonely to Mr. Blake and Kate, who stood together at the 
opposite side of the room, looking at her who was so dear 
to them. 

“ Thank Heaven ! ” exclaimed Mr. Blake. 

“No care shall be wanting,” said Kate, looking a grati- 
tude that was inexpressible. “ I must tell Maggie, as I 
promised,” and, so saying, she hurried to the good woman’s 
room. Maggie was preparing to go down. 

“ Haven’t you slept ? ” asked she. 

“ Indeed I have,” was her prompt reply ; “ but tell me 
quick, is she like to live ? ” 

“The doctors think so now,” answered Kate. 

“ The Lord is good to us all in this. He is a hearer of 
prayer ; but he will have us poor creatures satisfied with 
what he does with us, before he grants our requests. 
When I came up stairs to lie down, my feelings were all 
in commotion. Then I knelt down by my bed, but I 
could not pray at first ; but I kept kneeling, and I said, 
‘ Thou, O Lord ! seeth my heart ; I can tell thee nothing : 
but. Lord, make my will like thine.’ I couldn’t say any 
thing else ; but I felt this, and laid down to rest, and soon 
went to sleep. When I awoke, I was rested in my mind, 
as well as body. I felt, if Miss Susan must die, it was 


366 


KATE FELTON ; 


best, because God willed it ; and now I can hope she will 
get well. I’ve ever found it so in my experience,” she 
continued. “We must be prepared for a blessing before 
it comes.” 

“ Your experience is like that of all of us, Maggie. 
God wills that we confide in him. f Our extremity is his 
opportunity,’ as has been wisely remarked.” 

“ Yes, that is it exactly,” replied Maggie, as with her 
young mistress she went softly down stairs. She took 
one loving look at Susan, before descending to the kitchen, 
to see to preparing a breakfast, “ that,” as she said, “ some- 
body could taste of now.” 

The ringing of the breakfast-bell that morning was 
responded to by the appearance of all the family, except 
Susan, accompanied by her physicians and Mr. Blake ; and 
it might be truthfully affirmed, that with grateful hearts 
they partook of the food set before them. Dr. Stonely 
started for home soon after breakfast ; not, however, with- 
out promising to let Carrie visit Rosefield as soon as con- 
venient. 

“ Her disappointment was great,” said the doctor, “ in 
not being allowed the privilege of coming at New Year’s ; 
and when she learns, as I think she musty that all our 
plans are thwarted, I fear she will not take it patiently. 
Yet it will be long before Susan will be able to go from 
your care, Kate, and I must be patient ; duty cannot call 
but one way at one time.” 

“ I feel this truth,” replied Kate, “and it is well. Tell 
Carrie to remember who it is that has disappointed our 
plans, and bear the trial cheerfully. It will never do for 
her to bring a sad countenance here.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


367 


Cheerful faces were all those that greeted Susan’s gaze, 
as she at times, during the next forty-eight hours, opened 
her eyes, and smiled upon those about her. She was too 
weak to speak, even had she been permitted to do so ; but 
it rejoiced her friends to know that she knew them all, 
and realized their affectionate care for her. On the third 
day she could converse a little ; and Mr. Blake was al- 
lowed to sit often for a short period at her bedside. She 
gained strength, but it was very slowly ; and a fortnight 
elapsed ere Mr. Blake felt willing to leave her to go to his 
business, even for a few days. 

Another week passed ; and Dr. Stonely made another 
visit to Rosefield, taking Carrie with him. When ques- 
tioned relative to his opinion of Susan’s case, he shook his 
head mournfully, and answered, — 

“ She cannot get well till the return of warm weather ; 
and we must all be patient with her lingering. It is har- 
der for herself than for us.” 

During the three weeks she had been convalescent, she 
had only improved enough to admit of her being seated in 
a chair, while her bed was being changed. 

“ Is it not tiresome to lie here so long, Susan ? ” asked 
Carrie, soon after her arrival. 

“ Yes, it is rather wearisome,” was her reply ; “ but it 
is not as bad as it might be. I have had very many com- 
forts ; and now another is added in the form of Carrie 
Stonely. I hope you will not think it so very sad that I 
am ill, Carrie, as some of my friends appear to ; for I want 
you to look cheerful and happy. It will do me good to 
see your face dressed in smiles.” 

“ I did not think I should smile while in Rosefield,” 


368 


KATE FELTON ; 


replied Carrie, smiling at the lugubrious expression she 
had expected to wear ; “ but if you, who have suffered so 
much, can feel cheerful, I shall feel ashamed to let my 
part in this winter’s trial bring gloominess to cloud your 
sky.” 

“ That is right, Carrie dear,” was Susan’s feeble re- 
joinder. 

“ Now you mustn’t talk, — father says so; but I may 
just tell you how much I have longed for March to come, 
that I could enjoy Miss Felton’s society ; but, now that it 
is nearly here, I must wait and look forward still, to some 
indefinite period far in the future, for the realization of 
my darling wishes.” 

“ Suppose you never realize them, Carrie. It will be 
a Father’s love that disappoints you, will it not ? ” 

“ I ought to feel that it is ; but I am a selfish, wicked 
girl. Ever since I first saw Miss Felton, I have wished 
that she might become my mother ; and now, as I have 
been upon the very verge of enjoying that happiness, it 
seems hard to be disappointed.” 

■ “ I love Miss Felton too well myself to wonder at your 
partiality. I saw her, too, as long ago as you did, or only 
three weeks later, as she has told me ; and I can sympa- 
thize with your feelings at the present time : but your 
father will consent to your remaining here awhile with us, 
will he not ? ” 

“ Yes : quite as long as I will be willing to leave him 
alone at home. You see I want them both together, so 
that I may enjoy the society of both at once.” 

“ Be patient, Carrie. All will be right, and you will 
see it so by-and-by,” said a soothing voice. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


369 


Carrie turned, and saw her friend Kate. 

“ All the clouds will pass away from our skies before 
long, Carrie,” she added. “ Do not dwell upon trouble. 
Doing so only increases it.” 

“ I will not think of this great disappointment any more, 
if I can help it.” returned Carrie. 

Her father told her that she need not be anxious about 
him, and therefore consented to her spending the remain- 
der of the winter with her friends at Rosefield, if she 
could be of any service. 

u Her society will be useful here,” observed Mrs. Fel- 
ton, “ if it is only in increasing the tone of cheerfulness 
among us.” 

“ Then you wont care to have me stay, if I am dull, 
will you ? ” asked Carrie. 

“ You must not be dull. That would be wrong where 
there is so much reason to be cheerful. You are not 
always to have your own way, neither are any of us,” said 
she. 

With such helps to contentment, Carrie soon became 
happily forgetful of her trials. She made herself very useful 
in the chamber of sickness ; and her face appeared to Su- 
san as a sunbeam darting around amid the gloom of her 
partially lighted room. She possessed a natural tact for 
nursing, superior even to that possessed by Kate. Of this 
valuable faculty she had been ignorant until now. Hav- 
ing never had it called into action, it had been undeve- 
loped ; and Carrie was surprised at the efficiency of her 
own efforts. 

“ One cannot know what he is capable of doing until he 
tries,” said she to Susan one day, not long after her ar- 
16 * 


370 


KATE FELTON ; 


rival at R-osefield. “ When I first came here, I was afraid 
even to hand you a little drink, for fear I should do it 
awkwardly. Now, I could take the whole care of you.” 

“ Trying is a good test,” answered Susan ; “ and you 
can see now that some good has resulted from my illness 
already. It has helped to develop your faculties ; and 
for this we should be thankful, — myself more than any 
one. You are a great comfort to me, Carrie.” 

“ I am glad that I am at all useful,” replied that lovely 
girl. “ I don’t see why my touch is more gentle to you, 
as you say, than that of your other friends. I am sure 
Miss Kate is extremely tender towards you.” 

“ I know that very well,” returned Susan ; “ but she 
does not possess the same gift that you do. I believe you 
inherit it from your father, Carrie.” 

“ That may be ; but I am as ignorant in regard to 
whence it came as I was a few days since of possessing it. 
How strange things are in this world ! ” she went on, 
musingly. “Who would ever have thought that you 
must be sick and suffer, in order to draw out people’s 
faculties ? ” 

“ And try their patience, you may add,” said Susan. 

“ You are not a trial of patience at all,” quickly re- 
sponded Carrie. 

“ But the event of my illness has been that to more 
than yourself and me, dear, has it not ? ” 

“ Yes, it certainly has. Father felt it to be a trial to 
defer his marriage, I know, and so did Mr. Blake ; in 
short, we have all been tried, and shall be we don’t know 
how much longer. I wonder if any thing else will occur 
after you get better, Susan ? ” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


371 


“ That is what we may not know at present,” was Su- 
san’s rejoinder. 

“We are only to live day by day,” remarked Kate, who 
had heard the last part of the conversation. 

" That is what I will try to do,” answered Carrie, 
“ then I shall be prepared for whatever the future has in 
store for me, I know ; but then, it is so natural to look 
forward, it will be hard to refrain from doing so, I fear.” 

“ Sometimes an effort to do right requires a struggle,’ 
said Kate. 

Carrie found that it was necessary to struggle against 
impatience at times, although she was cheerful most of the 
time. She heard often from her father. All his letters 
were written in a pleasant, lively strain, that was hope- 
inspiring to his daughter ; and the days and weeks fol- 
lowed each other calmly, if not swiftly, as she lingered in 
the sick-room. 

March came with its cold blustering winds, as if on 
purpose, as Carrie said, to prevent Susan from getting 
well. That was not all he came for, as was soon evident. 
For a long while the whole of Mrs. Felton’s household 
had been so much engrossed with the illness of Susan as 
to be unable to visit Mrs. Upton’s family. Mina had not 
been with them since she returned home after her visit at 
Christmas. The winter had been severe, and great quan- 
tities of snow had fallen, which prevented frequent com- 
munication between the females of the two families. 

On a pleasant afternoon, about the middle of this, the 
first month of spring, Mina rode over to see Susan, whom 
she had not seen for many a long day. She spent only a 
short time with her, but several hours with the family. 


372 


KATE FELTON ; 


Mrs. Felton and Kate noticed that a change had taken 
place in her appearance since they last had seen her. 
Languor had taken the place of her former sprightliness 
of manner, and her step was slow compared to her natu- 
rally quick movements. 

“ What is the matter with you, my dear girl ? ” asked 
Mrs. Felton. 

“ Not any thing ; I am only tired,” replied Mina. 

“ What have you done to tire you so much ? ” inquired 
Kate. 

“ Not any thing in particular. I am lazy, I believe ; for 
I am weary all the time.” 

“ Does your mother know this ? ” asked Mrs. Felton. 

“ She does not, but supposes that the weather has kept 
me quiet of late.” 

“ You must be attended to right away,” said Mrs. Fel- 
ton. “ It will never do to allow a young lady to become 
indolent. Cannot you come and visit us every day when 
the weather will admit of your going abroad ? ” 

“ It would be very pleasant to me to see you every day ; 
and, if mother will permit me to leave home so often, I 
will come.” 

“ Tell your mother, Mina, that I greatly desire your 
company here every day, for a short time at least,” said 
Mrs. Felton. 

“ But what do you intend doing to me ? ” inquired 
Mina with some curiosity. 

“We shall not do anything to you, but entertain you 
as agreeably as we are able to,” was the lady’s reply. 
“ Will not that be a sufficient motive to induce you to 
come, Mina ? ” 


OF, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


373 


“ Indeed it will,” she answered. “ I only wondered at 
your asking me to come so often.” 

Although Mina and her mother wondered what could 
be the motive that prompted this request, it was readily 
granted. Mina looked in upon her friends daily. Some- 
times she walked a part of the way thither, but was 
always driven back by either a servant or Kate. 

Carrie could now leave Susan, as she could exert herself 
considerably without hazard ; and, being that almost pro- 
digy, an unselfish invalid, she desired Carrie to accompany 
Mina home, and spend a night with her. Carrie went, 
and, in compliance with the wishes of her friends, ob- 
served closely every symptom of Mina’s during the night. 
She found that the patient girl was not only feverish, but 
that she coughed at intervals during the night. Towards 
morning she was covered with perspiration. 

“ You are really ill,” said Carrie, as soon as Mina 
awoke. “ Your mother will be obliged to call advice for 
you. She does not know how you are at night, I am 
sure, else she would have consulted a physician before 
now.” 

“ No,” said Mina. “ She does not see me at night ; 
and I am seldom absent from the table at meal-time, so 
that it is not strange that she should think me well. If 
my appetite should fail, she would think me sick at once.” 

“I shall tell your mother just how you have been 
through the night,” said Carrie. 

“ I don’t like the idea of that ; for I may be better soon, 
and then she need not know any thing of my symptons,” 
responded the affectionate girl. 

“ I don’t like to risk this ‘ may be ; ’ I must tell her. It 
is my duty.” 


374 


KATE FELTON; 


Accordingly, soon after breakfast, Carrie acquainted Mrs. 
Upton with the manner in which Mina had spent the 
night. 

“ I wish your father could see her, Carrie ; for he would 
not give her any medicine unless he felt it necessary. 
This cannot be said of every doctor, therefore I shrink 
from calling upon any other. Mina’s appetite is pretty 
good yet, and I don’t think one can be much ill while 
they have a relish for food.” 

“ This is not always true. I have heard father say that 
many had been deceived in this way in regard to them- 
selves as well as their friends,” answered Carrie. “ Will 
it not be a good plan for Miss Felton to describe Mina’s 
case to father, and ask his opinion ? ” 

“ A very good idea. I shall be glad to have Miss Fel- 
ton do this whenever she chooses.” 

Kate wrote that day, but it availed little. Before a 
reply to her letter could arrive, Mina Upton was laid low 
by a profuse hemorrhage from the lungs. She visited at 
Mrs. Felton’s as usual, on the day of this attack, and was 
preparing for her drive home when it came on. She 
could not then be removed, save to a sofa ; for the crimson 
current flowed so as to endanger life, and demand perfect 
quiet. The family physician was immediately summoned, 
and arrived in a very few minutes after. He administered 
remedies that soon stopped the bleeding ; but Mina’s little 
strength was prostrated. She was passive in the hands of 
her friends. 

Carrie stood, and gazed mournfully upon her. That 
the circumstances connected with this dispensation affected 
herself, did not at that time occur to her. She loved 


OR, A TEEP AT REALITIES. 


375 


Mina, and the thought that she would probably soon die 
overwhelmed her. 

“ I will write to my father to come as soon as he can,” 
said she to Kate ; “ that is, if you think it best for me 
to do so.” 

Kate approved of her writing, and she dispatched by 
the next mail an urgent request for him to hasten to her 
dear friend Mina. 

“We all long to have you come,” she wrote ; “it is 
not myself alone that thinks you may possibly do some- 
thing in this critical case to give relief.” 

Kate wrote a few lines, and alluded to the mysterious 
providence that had brought another case of dangerous 
illness, just at that time, to their dwelling. 

“ I hope I may trust, and not be afraid ; for all these 
afflictions are sent in love,” she said. 

Dr. Stonely hastened to Rosefield on receiving these 
missives. His presence was cheering to the whole house- 
hold. Even old Maggie had become attached to him, 
notwithstanding he was intending to take her dear Kate 
away from her as soon as she could he spared. Mrs. Up- 
ton, who had been kept from the bedside of her daughter 
until after the first burst of her uncontrollable grief had 
subsided, met the doctor with a feeling of delight. 

“Now you are here, I feel relieved,” said she to him ; 
“ for I know you will do much for my child.” 

“ All that I can possibly do for her comfort shall be 
done ; but do not, my friend, lean upon an arm of flesh. 
Rest rather upon the ‘ Rock of Ages.’ ” 

“ Do you consider Mina’s sickness a dangerous one ? ” 

“ There is always danger around us, Mrs Upton, and 


376 


KATE FELTON ; 


sickness is not without its amount of danger. "We must 
refer all our interests to our compassionate Saviour.” 

“ You don’t speak encouragingly,” said the fond mother, 
as she followed Dr. Stonely, as he turned from Mina’s 
couch. “ She is very ill, but can her case be as bad as 
Susan’s was when you came to Rosefield last winter ? ” 

“ There is less reason to hope for Mina’s recovery. Her 
symptoms are different.” 

Mrs. Upton wept bitterly, immoderately. 

“ I cannot live without my darling Mina. (i Do, Dr. 
Stonely, try and save her as you did Susan,” said she. 

“ I will do, as I before said, all I can for her ; but the 
issues of life are with Omnipotence.” 

“ I know that very well ; but, oh ! how can I be willing 
that this daughter should be removed from me by death ? ” 

“ There is One, and only One, that can make you willing. 
Go to Jesus, who feels for you in this affliction, and he will 
give you rest ; but do not allow Mina to see you thus 
overwhelmed with sorrow. She must not be excited. 
Her feelings are strong ; and, although at present her mind 
is calm, she will sympathise with you if you weep in her 
presence, and it will hurt her.” 

Mrs. Upton did not allow Mina to see her weep ; but 
she wept often and long. She was so much afflicted, that 
M s. Felton and Kate were glad that Mina was obliged 
to remain at their house. Carrie was a constant attendant 
at Mina’s bedside, whose grateful smile rewarded her for 
each effort that she made for the dear girl’s comfort. 

Dr. Stonely returned to New York again. The wed- 
dings, that all had anticipated with so much pleasure, were 
postponed to an indefinite period. Maggie, who was some- 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


377 


•what inclined to superstition, gave as the reason of this 
continued disappointment, that something must be wrong 
in regard to these contemplated unions. No other mem- 
ber of the household, however, concurred in this opinion. 
With Kate, memory was busy. She thought of the past, 
and from it was encouraged to greater confidence in the 
love and mercy of God. True, his providence had been 
mysterious of late towards her. Still he was too wise to 
err, and he could not be unkind. She would wait and 
trust, and lean by faith upon the arm that controls a world. 

It was a comfort both to Kate and Carrie that the latter 
could remain at Rosefield. Her society gave pleasure to 
all in the house, — to none more than Mina. Carrie’s foot- 
step was lighter than any other, as she moved about the 
room, and her touch more gentle, as she arranged the pil- 
lows, or bathed the burning brow of the patient invalid. 
Kate told Dr. Stonely, in a letter, that her services were 
invaluable at Rosefield, and they did not wish to do with- 
out her. Although Mina partially recovered from the 
hemorrhage, it was evident to her physicians that disease 
was making rapid progress in prostrating her strength. 
This opinion was expressed before Dr. Stonely ’s departure, 
and all the family understood that Mina must die. The 
victim of this insidious disorder alone was ignorant of her 
physical state. On being asked, by Mrs. Felton, her views 
in regard to the termination of her illness, she replied in 
a sweet voice, — 

“ I have hardly given the subject a thought. I have 
felt anxious only to know and do my present duty, because 
I feel satisfied that the kindest of friends are taking all 
the care possible of my feeble body. I pray daily for 
gratitude, patience, and submission.” 


378 


KATE FELTON ; 


It was evident to all who beheld her lovely countenance,* 
and saw her affectionate smile, that this prayer was granted. 
It was a beautiful sight to see the lively, merry-hearted 
Carrie bending lovingly over the pillow of this youthful 
Christian, and wiping the dews of death from her pallid 
brow. She alone was with her in the hour of dissolution, 
which came unexpectedly to all. It was Carrie that re- 
ceived that long, loving, farewell kiss intended for all the 
circle of friends, who, though they hastened to obey a 
summons to her room, were preceded by the Angel of 
Death, as if he would spare many hearts the pang of a last 
adieu. 

“ My love and kiss for all, Carrie, for I am going now 
to Jesus,” were the last words uttered by Mina; and they 
were comprehensive to all those who mourned her early 
exit from earth’s transitory joys. It was early springtime 
when Mina’s remains were deposited in the graveyard at 
Eosefield ; and the hand of affection planted many flowers 
around her grave, that were emblematical of the loveliness 
of her whose mortal part reposed beneath the sod. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


379 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

“Every cloud has its silver lining.” 

“ I lack one loaf of that daily bread that I pray for, if I have no cross.” 

“ I wonder why brother John has not visited us during 
this long, trying winter ! ” remarked Kate, one morning 
soon after the death of Mina. “ He must have had cares 
at home to prevent him.” 

“ I think so,” said her mother. “ He has ever been 
too affectionate a son and brother to allow us to think that 
common occurrences would have detained him from us, 
when he knew how we were afflicted.” 

Mrs. Felton judged rightly in regard to her son. He 
had been greatly perplexed in relation to his affairs, and 
had been kept at home by sickness in his own family. 
Emma had been ill during most of the winter. This fact 
he had not made known to his northern friends. “ It 
would do no good,” he said, “ but only increase their sor- 
rows.” They had thought his letters obscure and unsatis 
factory ; but the minds of both mother and daughter were 
preoccupied, and did not dwell long upon the subject. 
Often, very often, during the months gone by, had the 
wish been expressed at Groveton that the loved relatives 
could be with them. Many prayers had been offered, too, 
for Susan’s recovery. Good old Euthy said it must be 
that she should see the dear child gain, 
f' “ She’ll done get married yet, and make a wedding-ture 
out here, as she ’spected. I does believe this.” 


380 


KATE FELTON; 


“We all hope she will,” said Mrs. Felton, with a sigh. 

Ruthy regarded her mistress with an inquiring look. 

“ I wouldn’t be ’pertinent, no how ; but ’pears like 
massa an’ you is troubled ’bove measure ’bout Emma’s 
sickness an’ the news from the North. Yer take all this 
’ere harder ’n yer did Rosa’s death, dear lamb dat she was l 
an’ I can’t bar yer ter go so troubled.” 

“ It is a comfort to know that you feel for us in our 
afflictions, Ruthy ; for we have more trials than you know 
of,” said her mistress. 

“ I pray de Lord to help ye through dem,” said the 
good woman ; “ an’ he will, for he says ‘ yer strength shall 
be like ter yer day.’ It does not become me to ax what 
plagues yer,” said she, hesitatingly. 

“ You will know before long,” was Mrs. Felton’s sad 
response. 

Too soon a knowledge of the cause of this sadness 
reached the people at the plantation. Mr. Felton had 
loaned money to a large amount, which he had found was 
lost to him. This intelligence, which he had received 
some six months previous, had obliged him to mortgage 
considerable of his property. He did so, hoping that, 
after a lapse of time, a small portion of this money might 
be repaid. This hope, however, proved fallacious ; and 
he had been for weeks learning that he was at the mercy 
of those who would be glad, and exult in the idea, of his 
being reduced to the necessity of selling his slaves. Many 
there were who had long felt rebuked by his example of 
kind treatment to servants. Their own conduct appeared 
to great disadvantage, when contrasted with his ; and this 
engendered a feeling of envy, which is ever the offspring 
of coarse and base minds. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


381 


One day, in the latter part of April, a sheriff came with 
power to attach some of his property, as the mortgage had 
been foreclosed. One of Mr. Felton’s creditors accompa- 
nied this man, and looked about among the people as if 
qualifying himself to choose those among them he deemed 
best fitted for his service. He was evidently interested in 
the motherly appearance of Ruthy. 

“ I like the looks of this old gal,” said he, approaching 
her, and unceremoniously laying his hand upon her 
shoulder. 

“ What d’yer want er me ? ” asked the indignant wo- 
man. 

“ No matter,” said the man, in a surly tone. “ It is 
enough that I do want you.” 

“ Ye’ll certain have ter wait a good long spell afore yer 
git me, and two or three more on dis ’ere people ; ’cause 
we’s free, yer see, and has good papers to show anybudy 
what’s wants ter look at em\” 

“ That is all you know. You shet up in a minnit, you 
black thing, and mind yer biziness.” 

“ That’s jist ’xactly what I’m a doin’,” — in no wise 
daunted by the assertion or commands of one whom she 
knew could never have a legal claim upon her. “ I’se 
bound ter keep out of the hands of them what hasn’t no 
kind er right ter take me, an’ I’ll do it,” said she, with an 
air of dignity, as she walked to a little distance from him, 
and stood, regarding him with complacency. 

The man followed her. 

“ Jist keep your hands off er me, now ; ’cause I don't 
belong to anybody but my Maker,” said Ruthy ; “ and I’ll 
be let alone, that I will.” 


KATE FELTON ; 


382 

“ You impudent hussy, I’ll make you smart for this 
talk when I git you in my hands.” 

“ I can wait till that ar time comes, very well,” said the 
woman, with a good-natured smile. “ But I know I isn’t 
imperdent in jist sayin’ what is true as Bible. I doesn’t 
want ter treat anybudy bad ; and I only axes other folks 
ter be good like ter me, or else let me alone. I wouldn’t 
do a thing ter harm ye ; but I’ll pray for ye, that ye may 
have a better heart than ter want ter git folks in yer power 
ter pay ’em for jist wantin’ ter be let alone.” 

“ I would like to know,” said this specimen of pom- 
pous tyranny, going into the house and addressing Mrs. 
Felton, “if some of these people have free papers. Is it 
true that this old woman, who seems so smart, is not a 
slave ? ” 

“ Very true,” answered Mrs. Felton, mildly. " My 
husband had free papers made out for her, and her 
daughter, previous to the death of my own daughter, who 
on her death-bed (this was uttered with emotion) re- 
quested it might be done. The papers will show the 
exact date of the transaction.” 

“ Are there any more free negroes here ? ” 

“ Yes, there is a young woman and her mother, whQm 
my husband’s sister was instrumental in making free. 
She took the daughter North, but allowed her to return 
to her mother, who had not then become free. That is 
the reason why they are both here at present. Our sister 
has been unable to visit us this winter, as she had contem- 
plated doing, and these women chose to stop with us until 
they could see Miss Felton.” 

“ Pretty work this, to turn niggers’ heads topsy-turvy 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


383 


by giving them freedom, when they are better off in 
slavery,” said the man gruffly. 

“ I believe,” replied Mrs Felton in the same gentle 
ladylike tone in which she usually spoke, “ that your last 
assertion requires proof. The colored people are as well 
qualified to enjoy freedom as the whites ,• and, for one, I 
shall be glad to see the day when they become, as they 
were originally, a nation by themselves.” 

" What shall we do for help if that time ever comes ? 
— though I don’t believe it will,” he added. 

“ Hire poor white people ; and pay them liberally, that 
they may feel encouraged to do well. This will elevate a 
portion of our population, for whom, at present, we have 
reason to blush, because their degradation is our own 
work.” 

“ I am satisfied with the present state of things,” was 
the blunt rejoinder. “ Niggers were made on purpose to 
labor for the whites.” 

“ I feel that you are mistaken in your views on this 
subject ; but here comes Mr. Felton and some of the gen- 
tlemen who agreed to meet here to-day.” 

The party approaching now entered the house, where 
they were soon joined by one or two more gentlemen who 
had also promised to be present. Mr. Linds, the man 
who came with the official, was taken by surprise when 
he learned the object of this meeting. It was to petition 
his creditors to grant him a season of grace that would 
allow him time to visit his northern friends, of whom he 
hoped to obtain money to free himself from present em- 
barrassment. One after another consented to wait upon 
him as long as he had requested ; but some demurred. 


384 


KATE FELTON ; 


grumbled, and contended that there was no reason why he 
should not give up a portion of his people. Mr. Felton 
did not attempt to argue with such ; he only entreated 
them to grant the favor he had solicited. Mr. Linds was 
very unwilling at first to listen to a proposal made by a 
majority of the party, to wait upon Mr. Felton. 

“ I want some of these slaves,” he said ; “ that old 
woman is just such a servant as we need to home, but she 
says how she’s free.” 

“ So she is,” replied Mr. Felton, “and her daughter 
also.” 

“ Your sister has some women here I understand.” 

“ My sister freed some women, or rather was the means 
of so doing, who are here at present. Should they choose to 
live with my sister, when she becomes a housekeeper, she 
will employ them.” 

“ Your sister will consult their will, it seems, in regard 
to this matter ? ” remarked one of the gentlemen. “ One 
would suppose she had a claim to their services after hav- 
ing done so much for them.” 

“ Upon their gratitude you mean, sir, do you not ? ” 
asked Mr. Felton. 

“ Both services and gratitude,” answered the other. 

“ I hope you do not imagine that niggers have any gra- 
titude for anything ? ” said Mr. Linds. 

“ I don’t imagine that they are grateful ; I know them 
to be so, and affectionate also, to a great degree.” 

“ So are some entire brute animals, — dogs, for instance.” 

“Your remark implies that some animals are half 
brute ; for myself,” said Mr. Felton, “ I must confess I 
have never seen any of this species of creatures.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


385 


“ Why, all niggers are of this class, of course.” 

“ I doubt this assertion very much. My experience 
teaches me that it is not correct,” said Mr. Felton. 

Some of the party thought Mr. Linds’s position a bold 
one, and contended that the colored race was an inferior 
one ; while others admitted that they should not feel guilt- 
less to treat them as slaves, if they were equal in any re- 
spect to the whites.” 

Mr. Linds advocated his position. “They have not 
feeling like other people,” he contended; “and life to 
them is less than to us, as well as death, that makes an 
end of them altogether. There is no hereafter to the 
poor simple things.” 

“ It were well for some masters of slaves if this were 
true ; but it is far enough from being so,” responded Mr. 
Felton. 

“ What reason can you give for believing niggers have 
souls, and are accountable, like ourselves ? ” 

“ Enough, I believe, to convince any rational being ; 
but first allow me to ask, Mr. Linds, if you believe the 
Bible.” 

“ I do, certainly.” 

“ Then you believe in God, and a Saviour, in whose 
merits we are to trust for salvation from sin, and the 
anger of our offended Creator, do you not ? ” 

“ Certainly, or I suppose I do ; at least, that is .what I 
was taught, in my childhood, to be the doctrine of the 
Bible,” replied Mr. Linds. 

“ Then let me ask if a creature without a soul, only 
part human, can be supposed to understand and appre- 
ciate the truths of the gospel.” 

17 


386 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ Of course not : these colored people are not accounta- 
ble.” 

“ You expect them to do right ? ” 

“ To obey what commands are given them. A dog can 
and ought to do that.” 

“ Did you ever see a Christian when in near prospect 
of death, Mr. Linds ? ” 

“ Only one, — an uncle of mine, — some years ago.” 

“ Do you think he realized his situation ? ” 

“ He appeared to see things clearer than ever before.” 

“ You think he was not deluded ? ” 

“ I believe he was calm, and had a clear conviction of 
what had passed, also the present and future. He could 
not have been deluded.” 

“ Would you like to see another case like his ? ” 

“ Yes, I would.” 

Mr. Felton arose. 

“ Call your mistress,” said he to a servant who stood in 
the hall. 

“ She be’d jist done gone to Ruthy’s cabin,” answered 
Jake. 

The boy was weeping. 

“ Lucy’s dyin’ now, an’ Ruthy sent for missis.” 

“ Will you go with me a few moments ? ” asked Mr. 
Felton of the man with whom he had been conversing. 

The other arose and followed his host, who invited any 
or all of the party, if they wished, to accompany him. 
Only one or two cared to go out ; and these, with Mr. 
Felton and Linds, took their way to Ruthy’s cabin. This 
was a neat little dwelling, almost hid by the luxuriant 
vines that crept over it. The little door-yard was beauti- 


4 


OK, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


387 


fied with choice flowers, that had been nurtured and 
trained by the careful hands of Lucy. The floor of the 
room into which the outside door opened was scoured 
white ; and every article within betokened neatness and 
taste. 

“ This is a slave’s home, isn’t it ? ” asked Mr. Linds. 

“ It was once, but is not now,” answered Mr. Felton, 
in a gentle whisper, as he led the way to the inner apart- 
ment. 

This room corresponded in neatness with the outer one. 
On a bed, neatly dressed in white, lay the dying negress. 
Her countenance was expressive of a serene happiness, 
such as the world, with all its delights, cannot afford. A 
vase of pretty flowers stood upon a stand near her bedside, 
at which she was gazing when the gentlemen entered. 
Mrs. Felton and Ruthy sat near the bed, and arose on 
seeing strangers enter. Lucy turned her face towards the 
door, and smiled gratefully as Mr. Felton drew near. 

“ Massa, I am glad you’s come in to see me,” said she ; 
“ for I wants ter bid you good-by.” 

“ Do you think that you are going to leave us now, 
Lucy ? ” 

“Yes, massa. Jesus my dear Saviour calls me, an I loves 
ter go ter meet him. Massa, I must see you in heaven ; 
will I ? ” 

“ Lucy, I hope to go there.” 

“ Oh ! yer must do more’n that ; yer must be sure to git 
ready for to come arter me. I’se a poor sinner, but God 
has made me rich in givin’ me a heart to bleve in an’ 
love Jesus.” 

“ Don’t you think you may be deceiving yourself, and 


388 


KATE FELTON ; 


thinking all this when it is not true ? ” asked one of the 
gentlemen present. 

“ I feel this to be so, — I don’t think so,” replied Lucy, 
her face beaming at the moment with an exultant smile. 
“ Oh, how good the Lord has been ter me all my life-time ! 
He has taken care o’ me, let me live where I could see 
people that loved him, an’ he’s gin me the best friends 
that ever was gin to anybody.” Then, turning to Mrs. 
Felton, she continued, — 

“ Don’t forget ter thank Miss Kate for her kindness, 
and tell her that I’se wanted ter see her for a long while. 
Tell her I loves her now, and shall love her for ei er in 
that world where we shall be together with our dear, dear 
Saviour.” 

“ 1 doubt not, Lucy,” said Mr. Felton, “ that you an rl . 
Kate will meet in heaven.” 

“ Yes, massa,” said she ; “ and there will be a great 
many others there that have loved our Saviour, and tried 
to please him on earth. Oh, I wish all would only go to 
Jesus, my best friend ! ’Pears ’s if I could take everybody 
in my arms, an’ carry them right ter him. I love every- 
body.” 

“ Some have been ugly to you, Lucy, haven’t they ? 
Can you love them ? ” 

te.. “ La yes, massa ! I doesn’t think o’ that. I’se only 
sorry they’s done wrong. It don’t hurt me. I loves all , 
because my Saviour died to save ’em.” 

Observing her mother weeping, she said, — 

“ Don’t ye cry, mudder, now God’s doin’ for you jist 
what you’se asked him ter.” 

“ I feel he’s good,” answered Kuthy, “ berry good ; yet 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


389 


its natural like ter cry when we sees them we love goin’ 
way from us. I have prayed or told my heavenly Fader 
a great many times, that, if he could let me live an’ take 
care o’ my poor child till he called her home, I hoped he 
would make me thankful. Now he’s done jist what I 
wanted him ter, an’ I do thank him for it, I’m sure ; but 
still the tears will come,” said the fond mother, wiping 
her eyes. 

“ You won’t be left ’lone,” said Lucy ; “ an’ then it 
won’t be long ’fore you’ll done come arter me. It seems 
to me now but a little ways ter heaven ; an’ I know I shall 
see you dere.” 

“ Jist so Miss Rosa talked,” said Ruthy. 

Mrs. Felton responded to this by saying, — 

“ The language and feelings of all Christians are simi- 
lar, I believe.” 

“ Dey’s all teached by de same Sperit, missus,” replied 
Lucy, “ an’ dey all loves de same Saviour. Oh, how 
sweet it’ll be to live whar all is thinkin’ the same way, 
and thankin’ de same bressed Lord ! ” 

In silence the spectators in that room of death stood or 
sat, as if spell-bound to the spot. Why they tarried they 
could not have told, if they had been asked ; but an invi- 
sible presence was there, and hallowed the scene. That 
Saviour who says to those who love him, “ I will never 
leave thee nor forsake thee,” was making the dying pillow 
of this poor despised Christian soft by the support of his 
almighty arm. The proud, gay, thoughtless man of the 
world could not but feel awed by such an influence ; while 
those who revered the sacred name of Him who was being 
honored by the manifestations of his grace and mercy, in 
this case of lovely piety, mentally rejoiced. 


390 


KATE FELTON ; 


Lucy lay quiet for a few minutes, regarding all present 
with a look of affectionate interest. She then closed her 
eyes, and breathed so gently that all thought for a moment 
that her spirit had departed. Yet none moved, but gazed 
in silence. In a short time she opened her eyes, and, 
smiling sweetly, said in a low voice, — 

“ 1’se prayed for all o’ yer ; I want ye all to come arter 
me, for I’se goin’ now ter Jesus. Kiss me, mudder, — 
good-by.” 

She ceased speaking, for the Angel of Death had kindly 
borne her soul to realms of everlasting bliss. Ruthy 
sorrowed deeply for a time. 

“ I did ’spect she’d a lived a little longer,” said this 
bereaved mother ; “ but God has taken her, and he is that 
kind.” 

“ Yes, Ruthy ; his time is always the best,” said Mrs. 
Felton. 

The gentlemen left the cabin. 

“ Was that spirit half human only, think you ? ” asked 
Mr. Felton, addressing Mr. Linds, as they went out. 

“ Upon my word,” replied the man, “ it don’t hardly 
seem so ; but I’m puzzled about this matter. Anyhow, a 
man wouldn’t be sorry to be like this gal when he gits to 
the end of his days.” 

“ Balaam felt thus,” said Mr. Felton, “when he ex- 
claimed, * Let me die the death of the righteous, and may 
my last end be like his ! ’ ” 

On joining those of the party who had remained in the 
house, those who had visited Lucy spoke of what they 
had seen. 

“ You should have gone with us,” said one ; “ it don’t 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


391 


hurt a man once in a while to be reminded of the end of 
his existence here. I cannot forget what this girl said, — 
that it was but a little way to another world.” 

“ She w r as not a slave,” said Mr. Linds, “ I believe.” 

“ No : she was free, and happy in the affections of those 
who surrounded her,” replied Mr. Felton. " Still she 
preferred heaven to earth. There must be a reality in a 
religion that can give so much comfort in the trying hour 
of death.” 

“ I am convinced of that,” said the gentleman who had 
before spoken. “ I shall not soon forget what I have this 
day witnessed.” 

Mr. Felton communicated to his wife the arrangements 
that had been made relative to the settlement of his business. 

“ I must start immediately for Rosefield,” said he. “ I 
hate to trouble mother and sister with this disagreeable 
affair, more than I can express ; and yet I know them too 
well not to feel satisfied that they would feel hurt if I did 
not apply to them in this emergency.” 

“ It is very hard, just now that Kate is on the eve of 
marriage,” responded Mrs. Felton sorrowfully ; “ but it 
is better to go forward and act, than to sit brooding over 
the difficulty.” 

“ I know it,” was the husband’s reply ; <f still, I hate 
to leave home while Emma is so feeble.” 

“ I wish you could take her and her nurse with you to 
Rosefield,” said the wife. 

“ She is not able to perform the journey, and I could 
ill afford the expense at this juncture.” 

Mrs. Felton strove to suppress a sigh, while a patient 
smile illumined her features. She saw her husband depart 


392 


KATE FELTON ; 


with a heavy heart. Her faithful, confidential servant, 
Ruthy, was in deep affliction. And now, when Emma and 
herself stood most in need of her sympathy and kind 
offices, she felt that she must exert herself to comfort and 
cheer this good old creature ; and not her alone, but the 
whole household, for a dark cloud seemed to overspread 
the horizon of this usually cheerful dwelling. 

Never could the society of another have been valued 
more than that of Kate, could she have been there at 
that crisis. 

“ I wish Miss Kate was here,” were words often spoken 
at the plantation. 

A vague sense of some misfortune depressed the spirits 
of the people. A dread of being obliged to be sold 
seemed to take possession of every mind. They collected 
in groups, and talked almost constantly of what might be 
the result of that meeting of the creditors of their master. 
Ever on the alert to find out the why and wherefore of 
any thing that occurs out of the common course of things, 
slaves always are. They understand, and only too well, that 
their weal or woe depends entirely upon the prosperity 
or adversity of those who control their destinies. To be 
sent from the Felton plantation would be the greatest of 
trials to any of the people belonging to it. They longed 
to know what their present prospects were, but they 
wanted courage to ask their mistress. 

No wonder there was sadness at Groveton throughout 
the whole house ; for the master was absent, and the pre- 
siding spirits of the place were bowed with sorrow. Mrs. 
Felton was not so much occupied by her own troubles, 
that she could remain long unmindful of the grief of 


t 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


393 


those around her. She endeavored to banish sadness from 
her countenance, and appear cheerful in the presence of 
those for whose sake her own heart was pained. Her 
recent trials had shown her the state of her feelings. Be- 
fore this she had not supposed herself opposed to slavery, 
at least so far as her own slaves were concerned ; but now 
she realized that they might be sold, and become the 
property of men who might treat them unkindly. She 
felt this would be the greatest of evils, and regretted that 
she should indirectly be the cause of others’ woe. 

This reflection weighed upon her spirits more than the 
loss of property on her own account. She could bear the 
thought of poverty, without the added pang of bringing 
distress upon those who had looked to her for protection 
from ill. 

Emma, from whom this fond mother wished to hide her 
perplexities, saw that something was preying upon her 
mind. She knew why her kind nurse had been much of 
the time absent from her chamber of late ; but, now that 
her father had gone, she suspected that there existed some 
other cause for the anxiety she had failed to conceal. 

“ My dear mother/’ said she, as her mother was sitting 
near her, while she sat supported by pillows in an easy 
chair, on the day after her father left home. 

“ What will you have, my dear?” asked Mrs. Felton, 
as Emma paused after addressing her, and looked tenderly 
in her face. 

“ I would have you look happy if I might ; if not, I 
would know the cause of your sorrow. If I am worthy 
of your confidence, don’t conceal anything from me be- 
cause I am feeble ; but tell me all that troubles you. It 
17 * 


KATE FELTON ; 


394 

will not hurt me to share your trials, so much as it will 
to feel that you are afraid to trust me.” 

“ My dear girl,” replied Mrs. Felton, “ I have dreaded 
to afflict you by speaking of that which perplexes your 
father and myself. No child ever deserved the confidence 
of his or her parents more than yourself. You shall know 
ail. I hope, however, that things will turn out more fa- 
vorably than of late we have feared. Your father has 
gone to try and raise money, so as to prevent farther trou- 
ble.” 

“ Has he met with losses, mother ? ” 

“ Yes ; in consequence of the bankruptcy of men to 
whom he had loaned a large amount of money. To meet 
his own liabilities, some time since, he was obliged to raise 
money by mortgaging the plantation. Until very recently 
he has hoped to receive a small portion of the sum loaned. 
Now he has relinquished that idea entirely ; f nd, to pre- 
vent our people from being sold, he has gone to Ne>v Eng- 
land.” 

“ Do the servants know anything of these affairs ? ” 
asked Emma, anxiously. 

“ I think they suspect that something is wrong ; and 
they look sad and anxious. It would be the hardest part 
of losing this money to be obliged to let the servants be 
sold, would it not ? ” 

i “ It would, indeed. How grieved sister Rosa would 
be, if she was living now, to know this painful change ! ” 

“ I know she would be greatly afflicted if she was here ; 
and it is pleasant to think she is where sorrow can never 
invade her joy.” 

“ Dear Aunt Kate will sympathize with us in our trials, 
I am sure.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES, 


395 


“Too much for her peace, I fear ; and yet she would 
wish us to tell her all our troubles.” 

“ Grandmother has been afflicted during the winter you 
say, as well as ourselves.” 

“ She has ; and your aunt, too, has been disappointed, 
as well as Susan, and prevented from coming here. Yet 
it is, as she will say, ‘ all for the best.’ ” 

The time that intervened before Mr. Felton could write 
to his family from Eosefield appeared long to them ; they 
counted the days, as they seemed to go by on leaden 
wings. 

Euthy soon returned to her duties in the house ; and 
the look of placid feeling that was revealed in her comely 
face proved contagious to the family. 

“ I can’t bar ter see ye look so sorryful like,” said the 
affectionate creature. “ I’se selfish, and want yer to com- 
fort me, now that I’se got no child or kin ter love me.” 

“We all on us love ye, Aunt Euthy,” said Jake ; “ but 
we feels bad ’cause we’re afeered massa’s gwine ter bleeged 
ter sell us ter some o’ them ’ere men that corned here 
t’other day. I heered um talk when they’s all togedder in 
de parlor ; and I know that massa’s done gone now to try 
an’ git money so we shan’t be selled. But I’m drefful 
’leered he won’t git it ; an’ then I shall die, I know I 
shall ; for I shall have ter be toted off nobody knows 
whar. O dear Aunt Euthy ! what shall we all do ? ” 

“ Be patient, an’ leave it all in de Lord’s hands : he’ll 
make it all right.” 

“You’ll pray for us all now, won’t you? ” said another 
member of the household who was standing by. 

“ To be sure I will, chile. I allers does, an’ I shan’t 


396 


KATE FELTON ; 


forgit ye now, when you are troubled so bad. But cheer 
up ; don’t look so sorryful-like, for I’se got umpression 
that Miss Kate ’ll be here afore long. The Lord ’ll send 
us help by her, I reckon. I make sure she’ll do all she 
can ter keep de people from being toted off ; so cheer up, 
childers, an’ do de bery best ye can while massa’s ’way. 
Jake, go ter yer work, while I goes ter Miss Emma, dear 
lamb.” 

Ruthy well-nigh forgot her own sorrow in administering 
consolation to others. 

“ If de wust comes, yer’ll have me ter wait on ye, mis- 
sus, while I’se spared ; and Miss Emma, dear baby, will 
have her ole nuss ter care for her. But my ’pinion is that 
the wust haint agoin’ ter come any how, unless Miss Kate 
dies.” 

“ Miss Kate is going to be married, Ruthy ; and then 
she can’t do as she has done, perhaps” 

“ I reckon she’ll never marry a man that ain’t good an’ 
kind like herself. I ’spect I shall like her husband as 
soon as I sees him. Does ye know his name, missus ? ” 

“ Yes : it is Stonely. He is a physician, Ruthy, and 
has one daughter, who is a young lady.” 

“ Bress de Lord for that ! I know well enough what 
sort er folks they is ’fore I sees um ; but we’ll all see um 
’fore long, depend on’t. That’s my umpression, an’ I 
can’t help thinkin’ so.” 

“ Is it faith that makes you expect to see Kate, or 
haven’t you prayed that she might come to do us good 
now ? ” 

“ I dun no ’bout faith ; but I’se prayed ’bout every day 
that de Lord would send Miss Kate to help us in our 
trouble.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


SOT 


“We hope your prayers will be answered,” remarked 
Mrs. Felton. 

“ Somehow,” said Emma, “it is a comfort to me to 
know that Ruthy prays for us, I believe. I expect her to 
receive what she asks for. At any rate, I could not get 
along as well without her.” 

“ Thank ye, Miss Emma, for yer love for me ole lonely 
self. Yer knows I love ye, an’ all of yer family, an’ I 
wants ter see yer all from under dis ’ere dark cloud that’s 
over us jist now. Aint it a’most time to hear somethin’ 
from massa ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes ; I shall expect a letter now at any time,” was 
her mistress’s reply. 

They looked several days, however, before the welcome 
missive arrived. Those were days wherein hope and fear 
alternated ; and they passed wearily enough to the family 
at the plantation. At length Mrs. Felton’s heart was 
gladdened by the receipt of a letter, the contents of which 
lessened her anxieties. The letter not only contained the 
intelligence of Mr. Felton’s arrival at Rosefield, but also 
stated that he would in all probability be enabled to keep 
all the people at Groveton, as in days past. This was 
good news indeed to those who had suffered so much 
suspense. 

“ Bress de Lord ! he is beginning to let us see the 
bright side of de cloud,” said Ruthy, when she heard 
Mrs. Felton read some extracts from her husband’s letter. 


398 


KATE FELTON ; 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


“ And you, my dearest friends ! how shall I thank you ? What shall I do 
to show my grateful heart ? ” 


It was on the evening of a somewhat chilly and cloudy 
day, in the latter part of the month of April, that the 
family at Rosefield were gathered around the tea-table. 
Carrie Stonely was still there, with her bright countenance, 
to cheer and enliven the little circle. The exuberance of 
her gayety was measurably chastened, it is true, by the 
scenes through which she had passed ; but she was the 
same light-hearted, lively creature that she had ever been. 

“ I do wish,” said she, as she seated herself by Susan, 
who was now able to join her friends at the social board, 
“that this coquettish Miss April would wear a smiling 
face long enough to let Susan go abroad and inhale good 
air, that she may grow strong. I declare I’m waiting for 
these weddings to come off ; besides, I want the opportu- 
nity of visiting Mrs. Blake in New York. Just think 
how very agreeable it must be to me to run up those mar- 
ble steps on Union Square, and ring for admittance at the 
door of that palace of a house where she is to live. Then 
think again how lovely it will be, after I gain ingress to 
the premises, to be permitted to go straight up stairs and 
knock at the door of Susan’s room, which will be opened 
by her own dear self, who will assure me of her great 
pleasure at beholding me. Then, in a twinkling, I shall 
be cosily seated ; while many a pleasant hour will pass 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


399 


almost unheeded by Susan, who will be so strangely fas- 
cinated with my society, that she will have neither eyes 
nor ears for any other object, while I am with her.” 

“ It is to be hoped that your visits will be ( few and far 
between/ if their effect is to be so disastrous to the com- 
fort of others/’ said Mrs. Felton, who could not refrain 
from smiling at the playful strain in which Carrie had 
indulged. 

“ I don’t know that I shall have either time or inclina- 
tion to leave my own home very often,” replied Carrie ; 
“ for the company there will be rather desirable than other- 
wise, — that is, if it ever reaches father’s premises. Some- 
times I almost despair of having things as I wish.” 

Kate was about to reply to this last remark, when a visi- 
tor was announced, who proved to be none other than Mr. 
Felton. The whole party at the table arose, and affectionate 
greetings were exchanged with the new comer by all. 

“ You did not write that you intended to visit us,” said 
Mrs. Felton. “ How is it, John ? Did you mean to sur- 
prise us, or did you come unexpectedly ? ” 

“ I came unexpectedly,” answered he, with a sigh 
which he vainly attempted to suppress. 

“ Well, take a seat at the table, for you must need re- 
freshment,” said his mother ; “ and after tea you can tell 
us all we wish to know about the folks at Groveton.” 

“ I will,” replied the son, seating himself beside Kate 
at the table ; and I thank you for your interest in my 
family. But you will not be cheered by my account of 
home affairs.” 

“ Is Emma worse ? ” asked Kate anxiously. 

“Not worse,” replied her brother, abstractedly. “ She 


400 


KATE FELTON ; 


is feeble, However, and we feel some solicitude on her 
account.” 

He then paused, and sipped his tea slowly and silently. 

“ Are you ill, John,” asked Kate, in a tone of concern. 

“ No, I am not ill ; I am thinking.” 

“ Then do please defer your reflections to some other 
time, and partake of these doughnuts. I think they will 
assist your thoughts.” 

Mr. Felton mechanically followed the suggestion of his 
sister so far as to take a cake from off the plate that was 
handed him, and taste it. 

“ I cannot eat now,” he at length said ; “ I have no 
appetite.” 

Carrie, whose quick perceptions enabled her to discern 
that there was something upon the mind of their visitor 
that he wished to communicate to his friends, asked to be 
excused, saying, as she arose from the table, — 

“ Jacob is going over with the carriage to Mrs. Upton’s 
on an errand ; and I think I will accompany him, and spend 
the night there. Now that you have other company, you 
can spare me.” 

Her friends, who appreciated her instinctive delicacy in 
thus withdrawing from their little circle, were quite ready 
to excuse her absence, but assured her that they should 
either go or send for her the next day. 

“ You have not forgotton Mrs. Upton, who visited the 
plantation some years since ? ” said Kate, addressing her 
brother. 

“ I have not, certainly,” he answered. “ Are you now 
intimate with her ? ” he inquired. 

“We have become somewhat so the last year ; but why 
do you ask ? ” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


401 


“ Only, because your tastes were so dissimilar, I thought 
it strange.” 

“ Then the idea has not occurred to you that her cha- 
racter might change ? ” 

“No: I was not looking for such an event. Has it 
really changed ? ” 

“ Yes, brother,” responded Kate : “ there is, you are 
aware, nothing too hard for Almighty Power to accom- 
plish.” 

“ I ought to understand this experimentally, certainly. 
You must tell me Mrs. Upton’s history by-and-by ; but, 
now we are by ourselves, I must tell you my own tale of 
sorrow.” 

Observing Susan had arisen from her seat, he remarked 
that she was one of the family, and he should not feel re- 
straint in her presence. 

“ I thank you for your confidence in me,” said Susan, 
while tears filled her eyes. “ 1 am sure every thing that 
interests you or yours is a matter of concern to me,” said 
she, reseating herself. 

Mr. Felton then laid before his friends the painful sub- 
ject of his misfortunes ; assuring them that he did so with 
great reluctance, and that no consideration could have in- 
fluenced him to trouble them with these disagreeable af- 
fairs, except that of parting with his people. 

“ And is this all your trouble ? ” asked his mother and 
sister, in one breath. 

“ Yes, this is all. Do you not consider it enough ? ” 
asked he. 

Kate smiled cheerfully as she replied, — 

“ Oh, yes ! quite enough for some circumstances ; and 


402 


KATE FELTON ; 


yet it is not as bad as I bad feared, judging from your lu- 
gubrious expression of countenance. 

“Why did not you inform us of your perplexities 
sooner?” asked Mrs. Felton. 

“ Because I have hoped, until recently, that I could ex- 
tricate myself, and you might remain ignorant of my 
trials. I well knew that you would sympathize deeply 
in them, and I shrank from giving you pain.” 

“ How large a sum do you need at the present time ? ” 
inquired Kate. 

“ It will take forty thousand dollars to relieve me from 
present embarrassment. I do not, however, expect 
you to advance that sum. I hope to be able to hire a part 
of it for an indefinite period, and refund the whole 
amount in small sums.” 

“ Such a course as that will make a lonesome look for 
you, John, and will only scantily relieve you from per- 
plexity,” said his mother. 

“ Yet it is the very best course I can pursue. If I had 
no people to suffer with me, or rather through me, I 
should choose poverty without hesitation. I would not 
struggle a moment to keep up appearances. It is th^ 
people we think of most : they must not be scattered. It 
would be to them even a greater trial than it generally is 
to slaves to be sold and driven away, because they have 
been treated tenderly.” 

“ Mother,” said Kate, “ I believe that you and I can 
help brother out of this muddy place : I see a way which 
we will talk ofby-and-by. And you, John Felton,” she 
continued playfully, addressing her brother, “ have got to 
discard that mournful face of yours without delay ; so you 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


403 


may as well put it off at once. Have you exhibited this 
sadness to your people at the plantation ? ” she asked, ap- 
proaching him, and laying her hand upon his shoulder. 

<f I fear that I have failed in my attempts to conceal my 
anxieties from some of them,” replied the brother, with a 
sigh. 

“ And the contagion caught by any one in the house 
must be speedily communicated to all on the premises ; 
and, now that you have left them, I dare say there is quite 
an assemblage of rueful visages, that are indexes to hearts 
that will be gladdened by a line from you. So do hurry 
and write home this very night, and relieve the minds of 
all who belong to you by informing them that things will 
go on much as usual, only that the routine of daily life 
will be varied with them, before long, on receiving a visit 
from some of their northern friends.” 

u Kate, don’t you talk wildly when you speak so confi- 
dently of helping me out of my difficulties ? ” 

“ No, not at all My joy at seeing you has made me a 
little beside myself, perhaps ; but not so much so that I 
cannot clearly see the way in which you are to be 
assisted.” 

“ The gratitude I feel for your kindness I cannot ex- 
press. I will, as you propose, write immediately to Mar- 
tha, whose heart is now overburdened with anxiety.” 

After Mr. Felton had written a letter, which was sent 
that night to the post-office, he retired early to rest, at the 
suggestion of his mother. 

“ See that you do rest now, brother,” said Kate, who 
attended him to his chamber ; “ cast all your cares at this 
hour, both for time and for eternity, upon Him who is able 


401 : 


KATE FELTON ; 


to bear them. Remember, it is a duty that you owe 
him.” 

u Would that I could do so, Kate, my dear, good sister ! ” 
was his reply, as she bade him good-night, and hastened 
to rejoin her mother and Susan, whom she had left in the 
parlor. 

“ Don’t, my dear Ma Felton, seek to deprive me of this 
great privilege,” were the words that caught the ear of 
Kate, on entering the room. 

fp These words were uttered by Susan, with an earnestness 
that arrested the attention of her friend, and led her to 
inquire what the privilege might be to which she alluded. 

“ The privilege of showing that I am not ungrateful for, 
or unmindful of, the great kindness shown me in my girl- 
hood,” replied Susan with warmth. 

“ W e feel that you have done that long ago,” said Mrs. 
Felton. 

“ But it has never been in my power, until now, to ren- 
der service towards any of the dear friends to whom I am 
so deeply indebted,” 

“ What would you do now ? ” asked Kate, who was mys- 
tified by the conversation to which she had listened. 

“ I would, I will, put a part of my marriage settlement 
into your brother’s hands. He needs money at present, 
and the amount Mr. Blake has settled upon me is not 
small. I can give up a part of it without injuring any one, 
and I shall not be happy if denied the privilege of pre- 
senting Mr. Felton with twenty-five thousand dollars. I 
shall offer it as a gift that I wish him to accept : if he is 
unwilling to do this, he may return it some day, very far 
distant, in the future.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


405 


“ But what, my dear girl, will Mr. Blake say, if you 
thus dispose of what he has so recently made yours ? ” in- 
quired Kate. 

“ He will be gratified at this disposal of his money ; 
if he is not, I have misjudged his character. He will 
come here to-morrow, and I will lay this subject before 
him.” 

“ I am glad you expect Mr. Blake so soon for more 
than one reason,” remarked Mrs. Felton. “ It will be a 
comfort to us all to have you consult him on this subject ; 
for, much as it would oblige my son to accept the gift 
you would bestow, it would not be pleasant to do so, and 
feel that possibly the action might be the means of marr- 
ing your comfort.” 

“ That implies,” responded Susan, “ that there is a 
possibility of Mr. Blake’s betraying littleness of charac- 
ter.” 

“ I think otherwise,” said Kate. “You view the sub- 
ject in a different light from that in which your friends see 
it. But do not think more of these things to-night, Susan, 
but seek rest; for you have been too much excited al- 
ready.” 

“ I will obey you in this, willingly,” answered Susan ; 
“ but do not, if you love me, offer an objection to what I 
propose doing. I must be indulged in this one act.” 

This was said while passing to her chamber, which, hav- 
ing reached, she bade Kate good-night, kissing her affec- 
tionately, and urging her to remember that in one respect 
her wishes were to be held sacred. 

“ We will see to-morrow, I trust,” was the reply of her 
friend, as she closed the door to Susan’s room, and went 
to her own and her mother’s apartment. 


406 


KATE FELTON ; 


.“I hope,” said Mrs. Felton, when she found her- 
self alone with Kate, “ that Mr. Blake will feel willing to 
gratify Susan in her wish to assist John, — not so much 
for his sake, as for her own. She is a noble girl ; and 
such an act on her part will silence those who contend 
that those whose early years are spent amid poverty and 
crime are necessarily degraded in their taste and feelings 
for ever. It is not so ; and, if the case of Susan might en- 
courage only one person to do by some poor forlorn child 
now in wretchedness what we have done for her, another 
soul might be saved, which in the estimation of our Sa- 
viour is worth more than worlds. The language of this 
act will speak to all who know Susan, and will honor 
God.” 

“ I think as you do, mother, in regard to this ; and I 
wish that the grateful and affectionate feelings of this dear 
girl may be gratified : but we can help brother out of his 
trouble without her aid.” 

“ By retrenching our expenditures, I am sure we shall 
be able to do this,” was Mrs. Felton’s reply ; “ and yet, 
daughter, it would take the most of our property to do it. 
I don’t like that you should be obliged to forego the plea- 
sure of furnishing anew some parts, at least, of your new 
home, if you are married ; but you will have to submit to 
this mortification if you let John have your money.” 

“ My dear mother,” exclaimed Kate, <f don’t give your- 
self any uneasiness on my account. Have you not taught 
me from babyhood that a lesser good must always be sacri- 
ficed to a greater ? and shall I not act upon this principle 
now ? I am sure I dread no mortification that can result 
from doing what I can to aid my brother in this emer- 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


407 


gency. Besides, any sacrifice will be a pleasure, when 
compared with the pain I should experience at having the 
people on the plantation sold. Dr. Stonely is not merce- 
nary in his views. I think it matters little to him whe- 
ther I have property or not. He will not depend upon 
my money to secure him an elevated position in society. 
His own skill and perseverance have already attained for 
him a high standing : of this I am often tempted to be 
proud ; and perhaps it will be best for me to be robbed of 
that which might make me too independent in my feel- 
ings.” 

“ If such are your feelings, my daughter, I will say no 
more. It is true, in assisting your brother, you will sacri- 
fice the lesser good to the greater ; besides, I shall have 
more reason to feel proud of my child than if she should 
have her house glittering with diamonds.” 

The next day Mr. Blake arrived : he had frequently 
visited Rosefield since the commencement of Susan’s re- 
covery had allowed him to leave her at all. He came not 
at this time with an expectation of taking her away with 
him ; for as yet she was not able. He rejoiced at finding 
her improving in strength, and looked forward now to a 
time, not far distant, when he might hope she could be- 
come the light of his now vacant dwelling. 

Susan sought an opportunity, soon after his arrival, to 
inform him of her wishes in regard to the disposal of a 
part of her property. 

“ Ma Felton,” said she, “ is afraid you will not concur 
in my plan : but I think, if I have rightly judged your 
character, that you will not oppose my wishes in proffer- 
ing this token of gratitude to one who kindly gave me 


408 


KATE FELTON ; 


his sympathy and protection in my hapless childhood ; 
and to one, too, who took me into his family, and treated 
me in all respects as if I had been equal to them.” 

“ You have rightly judged me, Susan. I will be re- 
joiced to have you present this friend even more than half 
the sum now at your control.” 

“ I thank you,” replied she with much emotion. “ You 
have made me truly happy ; and I can never feel suffi- 
ciently grateful for your generous kindness towards me.” 

“ Indeed you can,” replied Mr. Blake, smiling. “ I 
am sure it would be a great unkindness in me to wish to 
debar you from this privilege. Is Mr. Felton in the 
house now ? ” he inquired. 

“ He is,” answered Susan ; “ and, if you would like an 
introduction, I will present you to this friend with plea- 
sure.” 

“ Do so, then,” said Mr. Blake. “ I greatly desire his 
acquaintance.” 

Susan led the way to the back parlor, where Mr. Felton 
sat conversing with his mother ; and, after introducing 
Mr. Blake, left them to seek Kate, who was engaged in 
sundry little matters of domestic interest in the kitchen. 

“ My dear sister,” said she, addressing her, as she ap- 
proached the table where Kate was employed, and seated 
herself beside it, “ I am happy now in the hope of lighten- 
ing the burdens of some who have been to me more than 
my natural guardians ; so you must not say any thing 
more against the proposition I made last night.” 

“ Does Mr. Blake approve of your plan ? ” 

“ Yes, most heartily. I have left him now, engaged 
in conversation with your mother and brother ; for I felt 


OR, A PEEP AT BEAUTIES. 


409 


in haste to communicate this pleasant intelligence to 
you.” 

Maggie who had long been in the confidence of her 
mistress and family, was present at this time, and under- 
stood the meaning of what she had heard. 

“ I knowed well enough it would be so,” said she. 
“ Gentle folks what is gentle folks, and Christians besides, 
aint never small. I know I’ve seen enough of Mr. Blake 
to discover that he’s as true a Christian bill as ever was 
current in this sinful world of ours ; and I do rejoice, 
if Susan must leave us, that she is going away with such 
a friend to care for her.” 

“ We are all glad,” remarked Kate, “that her happiness 
is placed in the keeping of such a good man as Mr. Blake 
seems to be.” 

“ When does Mr. Felton contemplate returning home ? ” 
asked Susan. 

“ He will not make his absence from home longer than 
is absolutely necessary,” replied Kate ; “ and I think he 
may return in less than a week from this time.” 

“ I would like to go to old Virginia with him ; would 
not you, Kate ? ” 

“ Yes ; that is, if we could go consistently.” 

There was still another who thought that a short visit 
to the South would be very pleasant just then ; and this 
was Mr. Blake. This gentleman proposed taking Susan 
by easy stages to Groveton, that she might for a season 
enjoy the benefit of her native climate. 

At first, this proposal appeared a wild scheme to Mrs- 
Felton; but at length she agreed to abide the decision ot 
her physicians, as both Dr. Stonely and the doctor who 
18 


410 


KATE FELTON ; 


had attended Susan during her protracted illness were to 
be consulted. The letter that was sent to New York, 
asking Dr. Stonely’s advice lelative to the affair, was 
answered by him in person. He came, he said, not only 
to qualify himself to judge properly in such a case, but to 
see the brother of Kate. 

Mr. Blake was in no haste to depart, and lingered as if 
he could not leave the spot. Mrs. Upton was visited by 
Mr. Felton. That lady, although apprised of his coming, 
was unable to command her feelings on seeing him. She 
wept violently for a short time, at the thought of the trials 
she had passed through since she had seen him. Kate, 
who accompanied her brother, strove to comfort her, by 
reminding her of the mercies she still enjoyed, and of the 
goodness of her heavenly Father in sparing to her for only 
a few years the blessing of a daughter such as her Mina 
had been. 

“ She is yours still, Mrs. Upton,” said Kate ; “ and now 
you have one dear child in heaven. She world not ex- 
change the society with which she now mingles for that 
of her dearest earthly friends.” 

“ I believe this,” was the mother’s sad response. “ Yet 
there are moments when a sense of the past overwhelms 
me. I regard myself as indirectly the means of Mina’s 
early death. 

“To what do you allude, Mrs. Upton?” inquired 
Kate. 

“ To my inexcusable neglect of her domestic education,” 
replied the mother. “ I seem to see Mina now, wearied 
with her fruitless attempts at housekeeping ; and in fancy 
I often hear the painful sound of her young, sad voice, 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


411 


bewailing her utter ignorance in regard to that which it 
was most useful for her to know. I did not then realize, 
as I do now, how these efforts to accomplish something for 
my comfort were undermining her health.” 

“ I remember,” answered Kate, “ that Mina was very 
desirous to learn, whenever an opportunity was afforded 
her, every thing likely to be useful to her at a future day. 
Do not regret Mina’s early removal from earth. You can 
profit from past experience, if it has been painful. I dare 
say Delia will be taught to do all that is ever of use for 
a woman to do.” 

“ I do, indeed, intend to have Delia educated , — first 
usefully, and afterwards ornamentally.” 

“ Say rather, Mrs. Upton, that the useful and orna- 
mental shall go hand in hand throughout her education ; 
for one need not be an obstacle in the way of the other,” 
said Kate. 

“I don’t know but you are right. Miss Felton ; but I 
have felt so disgusted at my former absurd notions, that 
there may be danger of going to an opposite extreme in 
trying to avoid past errors.” 

“ That is very true,” remarked Kate: “you need to 
guard against this danger ; and I trust you will, and that 
your efforts to instruct Delia will be productive of much 
happiness both to yourself and her.” 

After the brother and sister left the house of this lady, 
they conversed, while on their way home, of the mutable 
nature of all things below the skies. Mr. Felton remarked, 
that, for one, he was glad things were not unchangeable ; 
for there were often changes that improved not only peo- 
ple’s conditions, but their characters. 


412 


KATE FELTON; 


“ Is not this true,” said he, “ in the case of the friend 
we have just seen?” 

“I think Mrs. Upton has been benefited greatly by 
means of her severe trials,” responded Kate. 

“ She is wonderfully changed, certainly,” said her 
brother ; “ and I admire the change. J ust think what a 
haughty being she seemed when she was at our house in 
Groveton. No one then was pleased with her manners ; 
now they are really pleasing to me. There is a subdued 
feeling manifested in her actions and conversation that is 
very lovely.” 

“ Yes, John : the influence of grace operating upon the 
inward nature of either man or woman is ever a beautiful 
spectacle. Mrs. Upton is a changed character, — a lovely 
exhibition of the power of true religion upon the heart 
that is by nature totally opposed to all that is good.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


413 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


“ Dost thou live, man, dost thou live ? — or only breathe and labor ? Art 
thou free ? or enslaved to a routine, — the daily machinery of habit ? ” 

“ The power of doing good to worthy objects is the only enviable circum- 
stance in the lives of people of fortune.” 

When Mr. Felton became acquainted with the inten- 
tions of Susan in regard to himself, he was deeply affected 
at this expression of grateful affection on the part of one 
whom he had a few years previous regarded as too de- 
graded to be reclaimed. 

“ I shall accept it,” said he, “ with thankfulness, — not as 
a debt, but as the generous offering of a grateful heart.” 

Susan was delighted at Mr. Felton’s acceptance of her 
gift. Her physicians decided that a trip to Groveton 
would be likely to prove beneficial to her health. 

“ She must journey very slowly, however,” said her 
physician in attendance. “ There would be too much la- 
bor and excitement consequent upon rapid travelling for 
Susan’s strength.” 

Dr. Stonely concurred in this opinion. 

“ Will Kate go with us ? ” asked Susan, hesitatingly ; 
glancing at Dr. Stonely as she spoke, fancying that she 
might in his countenance read an answer to her question. 
And she did not look in vain. A smile of the kindest, 
brightest kind illumined his features, as he said, — 

“ She will be needed. I suppose,” continued he, turn- 
ing and addressing Kate, who had just entered the room, 
“ that you will accompany your young friend here to Vir- 


414 


KATE FELTON ; 


ginia, for a short season. We doctors have concluded that 
it will be advantageous to her health to take the journey, 
if she can be tenderly cared for while travelling by some 
gentle nurse like yourself.” 

“ I will go with pleasure, if you think it best. But 
how long are we to remain ? ” 

“ Only long enough to escape the cold winds that we 
have still a right to look for at home. I shall hope to see 
you again by the first of June.” 

“ Then you will not go with Miss Felton, father ? ” said 
Carrie, in an anxious tone. 

“ I cannot, my dear ; but, if she would like your com- 
pany, you may go with her.” 

“ Certainly, Garrie must make one of our party,” said 
both Kate and Susan. “ It will be dull without her,” 
added the former. 

“ I thank you ! oh, I thank you ! ” exclaimed Carrie, 
with delight. “ Let’s see,” said she, “ there will be six 
of us, with Mrs. Felton and Mr. Blake.” 

“ Mr. Blake cannot go,” said that gentleman, who at 
the moment came in with an open letter in his hand. 
“ This letter contains a summons for me to hasten to New 
York on business of the greatest importance. I would be 
so selfish now as to say to Susan, f Don’t go,’ did I not 
know that Miss Felton would consent to accompany 
her.” 

“ You have not asked me,” said Kate, with a significant 
smile. 

“ I will now entreat you to go, and remain with Susan 
until she returns home again,” said Mr. Blake, earnestly. 

“Your entreaties are quite unnecessary, my good 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


415 


friend,” responded Kate ; “ for, if it is consistent, I shall go 
with her. And, even if you had not asked me, I should 
have gone.” 

“ What strange people,” said Carrie, laughing, “to get 
up an excursion without a wedding ! I don’t admire it. 
I want some weddings, or marriages at least, to come off 
first.” 

“ We cannot always have our own way, my daughter,” 
remarked her father. “ Circumstances are opposed to our 
having a wedding at this time ; and I see no way as good 
as that of accommodating ourselves to the circumstances.” 

Mrs. Felton remained at home, but would not be con- 
tent until she had obtained a promise that Emma, if her 
health would permit, should spend the summer at the 
North. Very little preparation was necessary to fit the 
travelling party for their journey. They rested often, 
and were so long on the way that Mr. Felton wrote home 
again to quiet the fears of his family in regard to his pro- 
longed absence. 

When it was known at Groveton that Kate and Susan 
were on their way thither, the expressions of joy made by 
the different members of the household were almost boi- 
sterous. Old Ruthy tried in vain to quiet these noisy 
demonstrations. 

“ Ye musn’t do so,” said she. “ Yer may be dis- 
jointed yet, for there’s no knowin’ what may happen be- 
fore they can git here. I want ye to be still, an’ thank- 
ful to the good Lord for the blessin’ of bein’ ’lowed to 
stay here, and not be selled off. ’Pears like I can’t thank 
him enough for’t.” 

“ It seems that your impression was right, Ruthy,” re- 


416 


KATE FELTON J 


marked Mrs. Felton. “ You said that you thought Miss 
Kate would come to see us before long.” 

“ La yes, missus ! so I did ; but I never thought dat 
she’d done start right off, an’ come. I’se grad, indeed I 
is, that she’s cornin’ ; I longs to see her, an’ talk ter her 
’bout my Lucy. I was a gwine ter say poor girl , but den 
she ain’t poor, onyhow now ; it’s only me what’s poor.” 

As Mr. Felton had not informed his wife just when to 
expect them, the day of their arrival was uncertain ; they 
were looked for, though somewhat doubtfully, for several 
days before they reached the place. The coachman went 
repeatedly to the house where the stage stopped, and re- 
turned with the carriage vacant. 

At length, one afternoon, when all were wearied with 
expectation, Jake ran into the house, exclaming, — 

“ I sees de carriage, missus, an’ dere’s ladies in it too. 
They’s come now, I knows they has ; ” and in the full- 
ness of his spirits he clapped his hands, and jumped up 
and down for joy. His joyousness was contagious, and 
soon was communicated to all on the plantation ; and the 
people, in eager haste to catch a glimpse of the friends 
they loved, formed themselves into two lines, and stood 
on either side of the path that led from the front gate to 
the veranda. The heads of the men and boys were un- 
covered ; and, as soon as the occupants of the carriage were 
near enough to hear it, the blacks commenced singing a 
song of welcome, in their own peculiar style. This de- 
monstration of affection, coming right from the heart, 
could not fail to move the feelings of those to whom it 
was addressed. Its wild pathos reached a tender chord, that 
vibrated to the touch ; and tears filled the eyes of the 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


417 


whole party, as they alighted from the carriage, and 
walked to the house, greeting the people with affectionate 
kindness as they passed along. 

“ De Lord bress ye, Miss Kate, an’ Miss Susan too, for 
cornin’ ! ” said Ruthy, who was standing upon the veran- 
da, as they came up the steps. 

Sylvia and Meeta stood back a little, and by joyous 
smiles evinced their happiness at again meeting these 
friends. 

Susan’s health had evidently improved during her 
journey, and she was prepared to hail each familiar object 
with delight. It was not long before Mr. Felton commu- 
nicated to his people the fact that Susan had claimed the 
privilege of advancing part of the sum needed to prevent 
the sale of the place. He thought this statement due, not 
only to justice and humanity, but to religion and benevo- 
lence. He felt, moreover, that a knowledge of what Su- 
san had become might encourage others to relieve the 
distresses of the poor and degraded, with a hope that they 
might, by kindness, be raised and re-assured. 

“ Now yer see,” said Ruthy, “ how right it was for 
Miss Kate ter take sich care o’ Susan. What a bressing 
it was for us all, too ! I declar I’se dat ’shamed ter think 
I ever felt so hateful like towards der dear, sweet chile.” 

Carrie, who was welcomed for the sake of her friends, 
wondered at many remarks she heard made in regard to 
Susan’s former position ; but she waited to be alone 
with Kate, before asking any questions. She had never 
been at the South before, and the manners and customs of 
the people were new to her. She enjoyed much that she 
saw, but was most of all delighted in listening to the 
18 * 


418 


KATE FELT02* ; 


many praises that fell from the lips of all the servants, 
which were bestowed upon Kate. 

Kate did not gratify Carrie’s curiosity in regard to Su- 
san, but Susan herself gave her the information she so 
much desired ; and proud, too, was she to reflect credit 
upon her benefactress, by telling what she had done for 
her. Carrie admired, not only the narration, but the nar- 
rator, of these pleasing facts. 

“I don’t, after all, believe that you can love Miss Fel- 
ton better than 1,” was her earnest reply to Susan’s ac- 
count of the kindness she had received at her friend’s 
hands. “ I am glad you are getting well, for your own 
sake ; but I must confess that I am quite as glad for mine, 
because, the sooner your health returns, the sooner Miss 
Felton will become my mother.” 

Not many days after these visitors arrived at Groveton, 
Mrs. Felton’s niece, formerly known as Miss Abbott, 
went to visit the plantation, with her husband. Mrs, Arm- 
strong’s attachment to her friends had in no wise abated. 
She was overjoyed at finding herself once more surrounded 
by those whom she loved next to her own dearest relatives. 

" I am most agreeably surprised at finding you and Su- 
san here,” she said to Kate. t( I was intending to visit 
you at the North this summer.” 

“ You may accompany us home on the first of June,” 
replied Kate ; “ and our being here will only enable us to 
be more in each other’s society. It need be no obstacle in 
the way of your visiting Rosefield ; we should like your 
company there very much, I assure you.” 

“ I have heard tales about you, Kate, that I suspect are 
true,” said Julia. 




OK, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


419 


“ Perhaps you have heard some truths : I hope so, at 
any rate ; for there are some items I feel quite willing 
you should learn without my telling you.” 

“ I can imagine what you wquld like communicated, 
and I am rejoiced that there is a kindred spirit, likely to 
cheer and radiate your pathway through life. Kate, I 
need not ask if this gentleman sympathizes with you, in 
your plans of benevolence ; for I am sure you could not 
like a person who did not.” 

“ You do not mean exactly so, Julia. I hope, at least, 
that I have not given you the impression that there are 
any that I do not like.” 

“ No ! I only mean that you could not prefer a partner 
for life, that was not noble and liberal.” 

Emma’s health did not improve, as her friends had 
hoped. The anxiety she had suffered had retarded her 
recovery greatly. Her mother could scarcely become re- 
conciled to the idea of parting with her for a season, to 
allow her to visit the North. 

“ Do not think of parting, Martha,” said Kate ; " but 
go with her, and take Frank with you.” 

Mr. Felton approved this plan, and encouraged his wife 
to make preparations for accompanying their friends home 
to Rosefield. Mrs. Felton consented. 

“ ’Pears ’s though I can’t like anyhow ter have yer all 
go,” said Ruthy. 

“ You need not be left behind, Ruthy,” said Kate. 
“ Emma will need you, and will hardly know how to do 
without you.” 

“ Bress your kind heart, Miss Kate ! It’ll be sich a 
comfort ter dis sher lonesome heart o’ mine ter go whar 


420 


KATE FELTON ; 


yer live, an’ be near yer so long. I thanks the Lord for 
bringin’ things ’bout so’t I can go. But will yer leave 
Sylvia an’ Meeta behind ? ” 

“ I will see. I don’t know as yet what will be done 
about it. Perhaps they may not wish to go ; we must find 
out.” 

“ I knows well ’nough dat they both are ’specting or 
wantin’ ter live wid yer when yer gits married ; an’ now 
dat dey’s heered yer’s goin’ ter be, they’ll feel as if dey 
must. O dear Miss Kate ! I’m glad like ter have yer made 
happy by changin’ yer condition ; but I’se sorry ye can’t 
spend no more winters here. I wishes I could live near 
ye and all yer family. Yer’s made us all happy by yer 
cornin’.”^ 

“ I have not done much,” replied Kate, “ not half as 
much as I wish I could, for the comfort of those around 
me. I feel that I am purposing to do something ; and yet 
time passes away, and leaves me feeling dissatisfied that I 
have done so little.” 

“ Yer make me feel ’shamed now, for I hasn’t done half 
what I mighter.” 

“I don’t know about that, B-uthy. 1 believe, according 
to your ability, you have done quite as much. Since I 
have known you, I believe you have always been ready to 
sacrifice your own comfort for that of others when it was 
necessary. I am not certain but that you have done more 
than I, all things considered.” 

“ Oh, don’t now, say that ! I can’t bar that, no how. 
’Twas ye that first telled me that I orter not ter ’spise the 
poor whites. I allers thought they wasn’t fit ter speak to, 
’till ye showed me dat they was jist like us. 0 Missee 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


421 


Kate ! I can tell ye ef ev’rybudy in dis sher world was 
like ye, ’t would be a world wuth livin’ in.” 

“We will pray, Ruthy, that all the world may become 
better than we are, — that they may take our Redeemer 
for a pattern.” 

“ Amen ! ” devoutly responded the good old woman. 

Kate, by conversing with Sylvia and Meeta, became 
satisfied that they were anxiously expecting the time to 
come when they should be taken to the North to live with 
herself. 

“ You are indebted to others beside myself,” said Kate, 
“for your freedom. Mrs. Felton gave money to assist in 
purchasing Meeta.” 

“ I knows dat ar very well ; an’ she has allers been kind 
to her, an’ me too : but yer mother gin somethin’, Ruthy 
said, an’ dat other lady dat was here, bress her dear young 
soul ! ” 

“ Yes : my mother helped to free Meeta, and so did 
Miss Winthrop ; and yet you seem to give me the whole 
credit.” 

“ W ell, Missee Kate, didn’t ye go an’ make the bargin, 
and pay more’n half the money yerself. Ye had the 
courage, and went right on an’ did what I’se afeered ye 
wouldn’t dare ter do. I loves odders for helpin’; but, ef 
it hadn’t been for ye, Meeta ’ud a been selled right off ter 
the trader. Then, too, yer helped me ter git my freedom ; 
yer did that all yerself. Ye hired me, an’ paid me wages 
to me ole massa, an’ put more to’t besides ; an’ then ye gin 
me clothes while I worked for yer brother. An’ I’m sure 
ye ought ter have me yerself.” 

“ I will see about this matter. I would like to take you 
home with me, and Meeta also.” 


422 


KATE FELTON; 


“ Thank ye, missus,” said the woman. 

Kate immediately consulted her brother and sister in 
regard to this affair. 

“ Of course we expect you to have these servants, Kate,” 
was their reply. 

It was soon well known upon the plantation that Sylvia 
and her daughter were going to live in New York with 
Kate after she was married. Thes^ women, too, learned 
the fact that Carrie, with her laughing eyes and curling 
hair, was to make one of Kate’s family. 

Carrie was well pleased with the idea of having south- 
ern help to take home with them, and asked Kate if it 
was probable they would be contented in New York. 

“ We cannot know until they have been there a while,” 
replied Kate. 

“ Every thing will be very strange to them at first,” 
remarked Carrie. New York is so very different from a 
plantation.” 

<( This is true ; but there is one thing in that city that 
will be very pleasant to Sylvia, and Meeta too ; that is, 
they will be where they can go to meeting oftener than 
they can here. This privilege will make them love New 
York very much, I think.” 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


423 


CHAPTER XXX. 

“ Who, then, should fear the face of man, when God hath answered prayer ? 
I speak it, not in arrogance of heart, but humbly, as of justice; I think it, not 
in vanity of soul, but tenderly, for gratitude.” 

The first of June*arrived, bringing with it much that 
was grateful in aromatic breezes and choice flowers. Our 
friends need not linger longer at Groveton, and they pre- 
pared to depart. Kate was urged by all, with tearful eyes, 
to visit them again. 

“ Ye won’t forgit us, will ye, Miss Kate, now you’re 
goin’ ter be married an’ live in that city ? ” said Jake. 

“Yer won’t, shall ye ? I knows ye won’t !” exclaimed Jim. 

“ No, indeed : 1 shall never, never forget you, my friends, 
but shall always feel interested in your highest good,” re- 
plied Kate. 

“We knows you’ll think on us all, Miss Kate,” said 
one after another, whose tones betrayed deep emotion. 

“ An’ we’ll keep the presents ye made us long as we live, 
ter remember yer by,” said Jake. 

Kate had given each and all of the servants a little me- 
mento of her regard. To those who were able to read she 
gave a Bible, or some other book ; to others, some article 
of dress. She felt assured that these people were for the pre- 
sent contented, under the control of her brother ; for he was 
kind. Yet she well knew that there was not one on that 
large plantation that did not dread the thought that this 
master might die, and leave them in a condition that 
would to them be far worse than death. 


424 


KATE FELTON j 


“ I wish.” said Mr. Felton to his sister, as she was on the 
eve of her departure from Groveton, “ that all my people 
were free. Even should they choose to leave me, it 
would annoy me less to be left alone than does the thought 
that I am now responsible for them in every sense, — not 
only in regard to their condition, but their character.” 

The recent trials of Mr. Felton had caused him to think 
upon the painful liabilities of people in bondage as he had 
never before done. 

“ I sympathize strongly in the feelings you have ex- 
pressed,” replied Kate. “ Would that your people could 
be emancipated at once ! but that cannot be. Still you 
can labor, and wait for such an event by-and-by as the 
result of your labors. God is the hearer of prayer. He 
can open a path in this wilderness of means to bring about 
this end. We must pray for guidance, and, at the same 
time, do all we can to secure the well-being of those who 
look to us, not only for precept and example, but for the 
necessaries of life. Let me entreat you, my brother,” 
she continued, with emotion, “ never to part with any of 
your people unless they desire to leave you.” 

“ I pledge my honor that I will not,” responded he. 

“ I have reason to trust in a prayer-hearing God,” re- 
marked Kate ; “ and by faith I can now look forward with 
pleasure to a time when you will be free from the scourge 
of slavery, the shackles of which are as heavy for you as 
for your bondmen.” 

“ It is even so ; and I rejoice that you have faith in my 
liberation from this conventional thraldom.” 

With these feelings the brother and sister parted. 

The time that Kate and the rest of the party were away 


OR, A TEEP AT REALITIES. 


425 


seemed long to those left at Rosefield ; also to two gentle- 
men in New York, notwithstanding almost every waking 
moment was, with the latter, devoted to business. The 
fond, maternal heart of Mrs. Felton went out after her 
children, as she termed all the young ladies. She com- 
mended them to Him who alone could preserve them 
alive, and return them to her embrace ; yet she could not 
know that it was his will to do this. Many had been 
stricken down by the wayside while travelling, where the 
Angel of Death ever hovers near ; and her dear ones might 
be suddenly called from earth while absent from their 
home. She was gladdened by cheerful missives from Kate 
and Susan, and even Carrie ; for this dear girl, Mrs. Fel- 
ton said, was almost as near to her as the others. 

One evening, during the first week of June, Maggie was 
passing through the hall, with the intention of ascending 
the stairs, to put the chambers, as she said, in an airy con- 
dition for the loved ones, who she felt sure would be 
there soon, when her steps were arrested by Carrie. So 
joyous was this lively girl to find herself again in Rose- 
field, that she could not wait until the rest of the party 
had time to ascend the steps, but hastened to surprise, if 
possible, the inmates of the dwelling, who had not heard 
their carriage as it approached. 

u Blessings on your young head ! ” exclaimed Maggie. 
“ I never was so thankful afore in my life. I declare, — ^ 
Miss Kate, Mrs. Felton, Frank, and Miss Emma, too ! 
ain’t it nice ? ” continued she, as she saw them all before 
her. 

Mrs Felton had by this time reached the hall. The 
baggage of the travellers was brought in and deposited, 


426 


KATE FELTON ; 


by Jacob, up stairs, who, as be carried it along, expressed 
his joy at seing the dear young ladies at home. Mrs. Fel- 
ton’s heart was too full for many words on this occasion. 
A feeling of devout gratitude was felt by her, for being 
permitted to see her daughters returned in safety, and all 
now in perfect health. 

“ Now that you are at home again, and have brought 
these other dear ones with you, I feel glad that you went,” 
said she ; “ but your absence has been trying to my feel- 
ings.” 

Mrs. Armstrong did not accompany her friends to New 
England, but followed them in about a week after they 
had reached Rosefield. Mrs. Marshly also joined the 
happy circle at that place, accompanied by her husband, 
soon after. 

“ I am rejoiced to see you, although the pleasure is very 
unexpected,” said Kate to Mary, as she welcomed her 
back to the old home-like place. 

“ You might have expected me. Did you think I could 
stay away from you after learning the fact that you were 
about to be married, and I not make one of your wedding 
guests ? No, Kate, I could not allow things to go on so ; 
therefore I have hurried my husband to prepare for this 
trip to dear good old Kosefield.” 

“ Have you been homesick at f Fairy Dell,’ Mary ? or 
do you continue to feel at home on the prairie in Illinois ? ” 
inquired Mrs. Felton of her young friend, whom she re- 
joiced at again beholding. 

“ I have never felt homesick,” replied Mrs. Marshly, 
with animation ; “ for, notwithstanding my attachment to 
this place, which must ever be great, 1 feel that the West 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


427 


has by far the greatest claim upon my affectionate regard. 
My husband’s interests centre there, at least measurably 
so ; besides, I find it pleasant to minister to the comfort of 
those around me, and all too who are within my reach. 
Perhaps I could not be contented if I was not able to hold 
frequent intercourse with my friends in New England. I 
often think of the first emigrants to what was called West, 
some sixty years since. How much they must have en- 
dured by way of privation, to say nothing of hardship and 
toil ! How much of the time they were in ignorance of 
the condition of the friends from whom they were sepa- 
rated ! 

“ It took a long time for a letter from those left behind 
to reach them, and then they were obliged to pay eight 
times as much as we now pay for their letters. When I 
compare their slow mode of travelling with the lightning 
speed of the present day, and realize, as I do I think in 
a small degree, my advantages over these indubitable 
spirits of the last century, I feel quite ashamed to think 
it a cross to live in the lovely retirement of ‘ Fairy Dell.’ ” 

“ We are not likely to live in retirement much longer,” 
said Mr. Marshly ; “ for there is a railroad in contempla- 
tion, that will bring other places near us. The rails will 
be laid along for some distance, in sight of our place.” 

“ Will this road be extended as far as the place where 
father lives ? ” asked Susan, eagerly. 

“ It will be within five miles of his place,” replied Mr. 
Marshly. 

<f That distance will not make a long drive,” remarked 
Kate. u I love to hear of the annihilation of space be- 
tween friends.” 


428 


KATE FELTON J 


“ Susan,” said Mary, “ I will like to plan for you. 
Will you let me ? or rather will you follow the sugges- 
tion I would like to make ? ” 

“ I shall not be able to inform you, until I know what 
it is you would propose,” replied Susan. 

“ It is merely that you make an excursion to the West 
after your marriage, stop with me as long as you possibly 
can, and then visit your parents at Woodville. That is,” 
she added, “ if you intend or wish to introduce your re- 
fined husband to a backwoods log-farmhouse. I hope 
you do.” 

“ Certainly I intend to ask Mr. Blake to visit my rela- 
tives, soon after we are married. If they are rough and 
poor, they are morally good now , and I am not ashamed 
of them. Mr. Blake has more than once expressed a de- 
sire to take me to see them ; but I am afraid he will not 
think my health sufficiently firm to admit of my travelling 
over those western roads at present.” 

“ A little jolting will not injure you by-and-by, Susan,” 
said Mrs. Felton, who had entered the room in time to 
hear her last remark. 

“ So I think, Ma Felton ; and I hope you will persuade 
Mr. Blake to be of the same opinion.” 

“ I am well aware,” replied that lady, “ that it is Mr. 
Blake’s wish that you should visit Woodville. He is de- 
lighted with the course you have pursued relative to your 
family ; and more than once I have heard him say, that, by 
your conduct towards them, you had exalted yourself in 
his esteem. He has left it with yourself to name the day 
for your marriage, I believe ; has he not, dear ? ” 

“ He has,” was Susan’s reply. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


429 


“ Dr. Stonely also asks Kate to do tlie same,” said Mrs. 
Felton, “and I suggest that you all spend the remainder 
of this summer with me. Let the weddings take place 
early in the month of September. All parties can then go 
to New York in company, where apart of us will remain, 
while the others go farther. Susan can accompany Mr. 
Marshly and his lady to the West. It will be a charming 
excursion at that season, as we know from experience. 
Our southern friends, I am sure, will be induced to agree 
to this plan, as far as themselves are concerned.” 

“ I think Mr. Marshly will also concur in it,” said 
Mary. “ For myself, I like it very much ; what say you, 
Kate and Susan ? ” 

“ I am satisfied,” said Kate ; “ as mother implies, in 
what she has said, a willingness to go to New York and 
stop with me. Am I right in this inference, mother ? ” 

“ Yes, my daughter. As it was left with me to arrange 
matters relative to our future homes, I have taken it upon 
me to decide to spend the cold season of the year in New 
York. In the meantime, we will keep the good old home 
here for a residence during warm weather. I hope this 
plan will please Dr. Stonely, for I will not ask you to 
spend all the time with me here. That would be unjust 
and selfish. I expect only that you and Carrie will make 
a long visit at Rosefield during each summer ; and some- 
times, perhaps, the doctor can come, and accompany you 
home.” 

“ Maggie will go with you, mother, I trust,” said Kate. 

“She has begged the privilege already, and I have 
promised that she shall not be left behind when we go,” 
answered her mother. 


430 


KATE FELTOK ; 


“ Mrs. Upton thinks she shall be very lonely,” said 
Carrie, “ when we are all away.” 

“ I suppose she will ; but we shall not be absent all the 
time,” replied Kate. 

“ How changed this lady is ! ” remarked Mrs. Armstrong. 
“ I declare I shall never despair any more of ugly persons 
changing for the better. I like her now ; but I detested 
her when I knew her in Groveton.” 

“ It is the influence of the Holy Spirit upon her heart 
that has made her lovely,” said Kate, “ and that alone. I 
love to see her : she reminds me of the fact that nothing 
is too hard for God to do.” 

The gentlemen in New York were informed of the plan 
proposed by Mrs. Felton, and both were ready to adopt it. 
Mr. Blake said he should invite himself to spend the dull 
part of the summer at B-osefield ; but Dr. Stonely was 
likely to be most busy during that time, so that he could 
not have the pleasure of being with these friends until 
September. He approved of the plan that kept Kate and 
Carrie away from him during the season when the city 
was least healthful ; for, much as he desired their company, 
he could not ask Kate to leave the genial atmosphere of 
her native place during the summer. 

Preliminaries being settled, a spirit of contentment per- 
vaded the dwelling where these loving friends were con- 
gregated. Maggie, who from the moment of their arrival 
had felt friendly towards Ruthy, Sylvia, and Meeta, in- 
dulged her loquacity in giving a description of what they 
might expect to meet with if they remained at the North. 
She gave a glowing description of the kindnesses that had 
ever been shown her by the family, with whom she had 
lived many years. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


431 


“ And it’s not me alone that’s been treated good, but all 
the servants that have ever worked here. Miss Kate’ll 
be givin’ you some thing every little while to help you 
lay up your wages. I know she will.” 

“Will Missee Kate pay us wages?” asked Meeta, in 
astonishment. 

“ To be sure she will. Why, what does the child think 
to ask such a question ? ” 

“ I thinks I’se willin’ ter work for her as long as I lives,” 
answered the girl. 

“ An’ so is I,” said Sylvia. 

“ Miss Kate won’t let you stay and work in her house 
without paying you good wages ; nor Dr. Stonely neither. 
He is like her, good to everybody that behaves themselves. 
And them that don’t he tries to make right; and he tries 
a long while too, afore he gives up any poor critter that he 
knows, I can tell you.” 

The servants all concluded that they were fortunate in 
being placed by Providence among those who feared and 
loved their heavenly Father. 

“ If I lives longer’n missus and Emma does, I shall 
want ter go where Missee Kate lives,” said Ruthy. “An’ 
’pears ter me that massa won’t allers have a plantation an’ 
people ; though I heered him promise Missee Kate that he 
never’d sell one o’ the hands on the place, an’ I knows 
he’ll done keep that promise, too, well ’nough. ’Pears ter 
my mind dere’ll be some way work round ter free the 
people. The good Lord has many ways ter do things that 
we knows nothin’ of, ye see.” 

“ I know that,” said Maggie. “ He will answer prayer 
sometimes, when we think he's forgot all about us, and what 


432 


KATE FELTON J 


we prayed for. "We will all pray,” she continued, “that 
slavery may be done away on earth ; and we can hope our 
prayers will be answered.” 

“ Amen ! ” responded the others ; “ amen ter dat ! ” 

The summer faded away ; and September came, with its 
wealth of fruit and its pleasant atmosphere, to scatter 
cheerfulness all around. Its arrival was greeted with 
pleasure by all the inmates of Mrs. Felton’s mansion. 
Carrie, dear, affectionate, lively Carrie, hailed it with un- 
bounded joy. She almost flew about the premises, making 
herself useful whenever and however she might. Beau- 
tiful autumn flowers were gathered by her hands, to fill 
many vases that were placed in the different rooms ; while 
from the conservatory she culled the sweetest and fairest 
exotics to adorn the parlors. 

One beautiful white rose-bush she had watched carefully 
for many a week. It had for some time been covered with 
buds ; and now these buds had expanded, Carrie said, just 
in time to grace the heads of the two brides. 

“ You will let me dress your hair this evening, Kate ? ” 
asked she, on the morning preceding the bridal evening ; 
“ and you too, Susan : for I cannot be refused.” 

“ 1 will employ you as hairdresser, Carrie, if you will 
arrange my hair as plainly as I wish,” replied Kate. 

“ I promise the same,” said Susan. 

“ Well, I have the vanity to believe that I can suit you 
both,” responded Carrie ; “ so hold yourselves in readi- 
ness to submit to my wishes this p.m.” 

Dr. Stonely and Mr. Blake travelled together in the 
earliest conveyance from their city that could reach Rose- 
field, and arrived at about three o’clock that afternoon. 


OR, A TEEP AT REALITIES. 


433 


The weather was delightful : the sun went down in glori- 
ous grandeur, and the evening was beautiful in its serene 
moonlight ; while myriads of glittering stars added their 
effulgence to increase its loveliness. 

The invited guests were all assembled precisely at the 
hour appointed for the ceremony, which was eight o’clock. 
The man of God came, and the bridal party entered the 
room before he had seated himself ; and, to the joy of all, 
these two couples, who were so dear to all present, were 
united by him in the holy bonds of wedlock. Never did 
brides appear more beautiful. Their attire was rich, yet 
simple in its plain neatness. Carrie proved herself a taste- 
ful hairdresser. The hair of her friends she arranged in 
a simple style becoming to them. Nature had given to 
both glossy curls ; and Carrie placed a beautiful white 
rose, with a half-expanded bud, on the left side of the head 
of each. This was all the head-dress they wore. 

After the ceremony had been performed, and most pre- 
sent had saluted the brides, Carrie approached them. Af- 
ter kissing both brides and bridegrooms, she exclaimed, — 

“ I am so thankful you are married at last, that I can 
hardly express my gratitude and delight.” 

“ I hope that many years will be granted you to mani- 
fest your thankfulness,” said the venerable man who had 
just pronounced them man and wife. 

“ I wish you and your bride were to belong to our 
party during the whole of our excursion to ‘ Fairy Dell,’ ” 
said Mr. Harshly to Dr. Stonely, on the morning after the 
weddings. “ It is too bad that you cannot allow yourself 
time even for a wedding-tour.” 

“We shall make something of a tour in going to New 
19 


434 


KATE FELTON ; 


York/’ said Kate. u I shall be satisfied with that, for the 
doctor’s business is of more importance than pleasure. 
His time is sacred to humanity.” 

“ The sick may not be neglected with impunity,” re- 
marked the doctor ; “ and I find it difficult to leave my 
patients, even for a few days.” 

“ You will not confine yourself and Kate to that closely 
packed city all your life, I hope,” said Mrs. Marshly. 

“ I do not intend to do exactly that, my dear friend,” 
answered the doctor. “ Mrs. Stonely shall go wherever 
she pleases, and I will accompany her as often as duty will 
permit.” 

“You may be assured, Mary, that I shall suffer no 
wrong,” answered her friend. “ I trust that duty and 
pleasure will go hand in hand in my experience. Yet 
sometimes I almost tremble when I think of the responsi- 
bility that will rest upon me on becoming a resident of a 
large city.” 


OR, A PEEP AT HEAT IT1E8 


435 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

“ How much more glorious a character is that of the friend of mankind 
than that of the conqueror of nations ! ” 

“All may mend; and sympathies are healing, and reason has its influence 
with the worst. And in those worst is ample hope, if only thou have charity 
and faith.” 

After the arrival of the bridal party in New York, the 
friends who were on their way to parts more distant re- 
solved to accept the invitation of Dr. Stonely and lady to 
spend at least one day at their house before proceeding 
farther. At first, Mrs. Felton refused to listen to the sug- 
gestion of stopping even for one night : but a sudden 
revulsion took place in her feelings while riding up 
Broadway ; for she there espied her husband, who 
was so busily engaged in conversation with a gentleman 
that he did not see the carriage in which his family were 
sitting, until it had stopped near him, and he heard him- 
self addressed. 

“ I am glad to meet you thus,” he said to his friends, 
‘ for to-morrow I was intending to start for Rosefield. 
Business of importance called me unexpectedly to this city 
just at this juncture ; and, though my time is limited here, 
I could not go home without my family.” 

After accompanying the whole party to the house of Dr. 
Stonely, Mrs. Felton readily yielded to the solicitations of 
friends, and concluded to stop for at least one day in the 
city. 

Everything in the neat and elegant house on Fourteenth 


436 


KATE FELTON,* 


Street had been arranged for the reception of the bride 
and her friends by Mrs. Fielding, who possessed much of 
that kind of taste needful for one who should superintend 
the furnishing of superb apartments. Kate had gladly ac- 
cepted the proffered kindness of this friend to attend to 
matters of purchasing, and seeing placed in the rooms, any 
articles of furniture that were to be bought. She was not 
so particular as to suffer one moment’s anxiety lest every 
little item in these arrangements should not suit her own 
taste. She scarcely gave the subject a thought. Sylvia 
and Meeta had preceded their mistress to her new home. 
They would like to see her married, they said, at leaving 
ftosefield ; but should see her for many a year, they 
hoped, after she was married, and that would be a great 
deal better. 

Meeta said she knew how Miss Kate would like her 
rooms adjusted, and she should tell the ladies who pre- 
sided if things were not ordered just right. Kate gave 
her, at that time, a note to Mrs. Fielding ; and the kind- 
hearted, grateful girl felt proud as she accompanied her 
mother on this journey to the Empire City. Meeta’s smi- 
ling face was the first that greeted her mistress, as that 
lady entered her new habitation. She stood back in the 
hall, arrayed in her best apparel, and waiting, with respect- 
ful deference, for an opportunity to tell dear Mrs. Stonely, 
as she now called her, how glad she was that she could 
now live with her, and labor for her comfort. 

Kate returned the greetings of all her friends with af- 
fectionate kindness, as she met them in the hall ; and it 
was not long before she found her way to the spot where 
were standing the two faithful women whom she had been 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


437 


instrumental in saving from bondage. She shook hands 
with both of them, and thanked them for their heartfelt 
congratulations. 

“ I’se glad ye sent us along fust,” said Sylvia, “ ’cause 
we’s needed sure.” 

“ That we was,” interrupted Meeta. “ ’Pears like these 
folks didn’t begin ter know yer ways, Missee Kate, — Mis- 
sus Stonely, I means.” 

“ Well,” answered Kate, “you at least know just 
how I want things done, and I am glad. But the others 
did what they thought would please me, no doubt ; and 
one must accept a generous intention as an action, some- 
times.” 

“Yes, missus,” replied the young woman, courtesying 
as she spoke. 

Kate and her friends were convinced, by the appoint- 
ments of her table for supper on that night, that there were 
some in the house who understood her wishes. Mdfeta 
was delighted as she met the approving glances of those 
she cared most to please, while assisting her mother to 
tend the table. During supper a conversation was com- 
menced by Mrs. Felton, which was continued until a late 
hour in the evening, and was then finished by a promise 
from Mr. Felton to allow his wife to spend the warm sea- 
son at the North. 

“ I dare not promise to grant your request to liberate 
my people,” said he ; “ but I will promise to think seri- 
ously upon the subject.” 

“ Mother,” said Kate the next day, when they were by 
themselves, “ I do believe John is thinking seriously about 
coming to this city to engage in business.” 


438 


KATE FELTON ; 


“ I hope you are right in your conjecture,” replied Mrs. 
Felton; “for, if he should do so, I could not only have 
his family with me during the warm seasons, but his slaves 
would all be made free in that case. He will not promise 
any thing more than that he will think upon the subject ; 
but even that is something.” 

“ It is a great deal, I feel,” replied her mother. “ J ohn 
will not think long without being convinced, by reflection, 
that it will be wise for him to do as we proposed last eve- 
ning. But we will wait and hope.” 

Julia Armstrong and her husband were the first of this 
circle of pleasant visitors who left Dr. Stonely’s. She ob- 
tained a promise from her host and his lady that they 
would visit her home in South Carolina. 

“ I wish very much,” said she, “ that you could see 
just how we are getting along in our attempts at reforming 
the degraded, and instructing the ignorant. Our progress 
is slow ; still, something is being done. The lever is be- 
ginning to move the lump of prejudice that has so long 
laid heavy against the wheels of philanthropic exertion in 
behalf of poor whites. One may now make an effort to do 
good to this class of our fellow-creatures, without being 
termed insane.” 

“ I rejoice to learn the fact that you and Mr. Armstrong 
are like to make this world better for your living in it,” 
said Kate. “ If we do not agree with each other in our 
theory on all points, I trust we disagree less in our prac- 
tice, and shall continue to do so.” 

“ I suppose,” said Mr. Armstrong, good-naturedly, 
“ that Mrs. Stonely is expecting, that, before many years, 
I shall change my opinions in regard to slavery ; but she 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


439 


will find herself mistaken. I imagine we shall never see 
eye to eye in regard to that subject.” 

“ Do not be too confident,” answered Kate, with a plea- 
sant smile. “ Every thing is possible, and you may think 
differently. I trust your opinions are not like the laws of 
the Medes and Persians.” 

“ Time will show,” said Mr. Armstrong, as he warmly 
grasped the hand of this friend at parting. 

J ulia said she should be willing to free all the people, 
if her husband thought best to do so. She parted from 
her friends declaring that her prejudices against northern 
fanaticism had given place to a feeling of respect towards 
those whom she now felt had been misjudged by the 
South. 

Mr. Felton’s family was the next to depart. 

“ You shall soon know the result of my reflections,” 
said Mr. Felton to his mother, as he bade her adieu. The 
parting of Ruthy with her friends was affecting, yet not 
sadly so. 

“ I hopes I can cum agin some time,” said she, as she 
kissed the hand of Kate ; “ an’ ’pears like it will be so 
massa’ll come too. I used ter think the northerners was 
drefful somehow ; but, now I knows um, I likes um. They 
are as good as our folks ter hum, I’m sure ; an’ I’m glad 
Missee Kate ever went ter her brudder’s.” 

“ I expect I shall see you at the North again,” said 
Kate to this affectionate old woman, as she shook hands 
with her. 

“ I hope you will,” was the earnest reply. 

Kate presented Susan with a sum of money to give her 
parents, saying to her at the same time that she presumed 


440 


KATE FELTON ; 


her benevolence towards Mr. Felton would prevent her 
doing as she might wish towards them. 

“You have misjudged on that point, my friend,” an- 
swered Susan. “ I have determined to give them the 
same amount that I should have done had your brother 
refused to accept a single penny. Some may consider me 
wanting in filial duty because I gave more to another 
than I offer my father. Yet it is not because I do not 
desire to promote his best good I do this ; but because I 
think a small portion received by him annually will benefit 
the family more than a large sum now.” 

“ You are right in this, Susan ,* and I am glad to know 
that you are at liberty to do as you please towards your 
parents. But you will allow me as a friend to send them 
some slight present in token of my kind remembrance, will 
you not ? ” 

“ Oh, certainly ! but let it be something beside money. 
Mr. Blake will have any thing transported that you will 
wish to send,” replied Susan. 

€t Then I will buy some articles of clothing that cannot 
be as easily procured where they live as in this city,” said 
Kate. 

This resolution was no sooner made than acted upon. 
Many little items for household comfort, and others for 
dress, were soon purchased and carefully packed, to be 
carried to those for whom Kate felt an increasing interest 
as years rolled on. So true it is that the very act of con- 
ferring favors endears the recipients of them to their bene- 
factors. 

Susan started upon this tour with feelings of delight ; 
and, as she drew near her journey’s end, she remarked to 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


441 


the companions of her way that she had often imagined 
scenes of happiness in which she was an actor, but never 
any so replete with pleasure as that in which she had been 
permitted to mingle during the last few months of her 
life. Her visit to her parents was very pleasant. Their 
hearts were gladdened by her offerings, and those of their 
friend Mrs. Stonely. 

On hearing that their “ Miss Felton” was married, and 
that her prospects for the future were bright with promise 
of good to many, Mr. Wilkins exclaimed, — 

“ Oh, I wish that the world was full of such women as 
she ! ” 

“ There would be no room for suffering in that case 
my friend,” remarked Mr. Blake. 

“ True enough, there wouldn’t,” responded the latter ; 
“ but I have reason to bless God that she has known my 
family.” 

“ And so, also, have I,” answered Mr. Blake, with deep 
feeling. 

After spending a few weeks with their different friends 
at the West, Mr. Blake and his wife returned to New York, 
and took up their abode in the beautiful mansion that 
Carrie Stonely had playfully expressed a wish to visit, and 
find Susan its mistress. 

“ You will now be able to run up those marble steps, 
and ring at the door of Mr. Blake’s house, Carrie,” said 
Kate one day to this lively girl. “ You were impatient 
at one time to do this, I believe,” she added, with an affec- 
tionate smile. 

“ I remember what I said about it that night Uncle John 
came. You need not laugh, for he is my uncle,” said 


442 


KATE FELTON ; 


Carrie, as she saw a smile beaming upon the face of her 
new mother. 

“ I am pleased to think it is so,” remarked Mrs. Stonely. 
But, tell me, when will you call upon Susan ? ” 

“Whenever my mother will accompany me,” was 
Carrie’s affectionate reply, as she playfully kissed Kate, 
and ran out of the room. 

Mr. Felton did not keep his New York friends long in 
suspense ‘relative to the course he intended to pursue with 
his people. He soon wrote to them, and we will venture 
to make a few extracts from his letter. 

“ I have,” he wrote, “thought long upon the subject of 
manumitting my slaves. I have consulted the wishes of 
each one of them, and have ascertained that their feelings 
are in favor of taking care of themselves. Jake and Jim 
plead earnestly to be permitted to go to your city, and 
work for Kate or Susan. I have comforted them by a 
promise to tell you this, which I need not say is now ful- 
filled. I ha^ e, too, promised to employ as many of my 
people as I can possibly afford to in New York, as thither 
I have concluded to go and engage in business. Some 
have friends in Canada, and I ask your assistance in find- 
ing places for those that have not. I shall help to reach 
that place all that wish to go there, for I cannot send 
them out into a world of which they are measurably igno- 
rant. I stand in the place of a guardian to these souls, 
who have for years done my bidding ; and I must watch 
over them, at least for a time.” 

This letter was read with delight by all Dr. Stonely’s 
family. Mrs. Felton proposed to her son, in a letter that 
was written immediately after his missive was read by her. 


OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 


443 


to hire several of the servants herself, and keep them until 
they could be sure of other good homes. 

Kate requested her brother to tell Jake that she wanted 
him in her own house. Jim, she was sure, would be em- 
ployed by Mr. Blake. Other friends would like several 
of the other servants ; and it would be easy to find places 
for all. 

Mrs. Felton closed her letter by saying that she was 
glad he was about to prove his regard for his people by 
his care for their comfort. 

“ Be assured, my son,” said she, “ that your kindness 
to the least deserving among them will not be exerted in 
vain.” 

“ Now,” said Kate to her mother, after this letter was 
dispatched to the post-office, “ you will not be likely to be 
left alone at Rosefield, at anytime ; for Martha and Emma 
and Frank will probably spend much of their time with 
you.” 

“ I think,” answered Mrs. Felton, “ that it will be 
Martha’s wish to reside with me in the old homestead 
constantly. She does not like city life, and I am sure 
John will spare her from their home in the city, during 
the warm season.” 

“ How many blessings are ours ! ” said Kate, thought- 
fully. 

“ Very many,” responded her mother ; “ and humility 
and gratitude become us.” 

“ I am so delighted,” said Carrie, who for a short time 
had been a silent listener to the conversation of her friends, 
“ to know that Emma’s home is to be so near us, that I 
can hardly find words to express my joy. Yet the 


444 KATE FELTON ; OR, A PEEP AT REALITIES. 

thought of this is not as pleasant to me as is the sweet 
reality that my new mother’s home and mine are now 
one.” 

As she said this, she encircled Kate’s neck with her arm, 
and imprinted a kiss of affection upon her cheek. 

“Take care, Carrie,” said Mrs. Felton, “don’t make 
an idol of your new mother ; remember she is only 
mortal. 

“ I know that,” replied the affectionate girl. “ But she 
is always doing something to make one love her ; so that 
I cannot help doing so, if I would.” 


THE END. 
























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